LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
RIVERSIDE 


Ex  Libris 
ISAAC  FOOT 


THE  WORKS  OF  ANATOLE  FRANCE 
IN  AN  ENGLISH  TRANSLATION 
EDITED  BY  FREDERIC  CHAPMAN 

THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 


THE     REVOLT 
OF  THE  ANGELS 

BY   ANATOLE    FRANCE 

A    TRANSLATION   BY 
MRS.  WILFRID  JACKSON 


LONDON  :  JOHN  LANE,  THE  BODLEY  HEAD 
NEW  YORK:  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 
TORONTO  :  BELL  fer  COCKBURN  MCMXIV 


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WILLIAM    BRBNDON    AND    SON,     LTD.,    PRINTERS,    PLYMOUTH 


THE 
REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 


THE   REVOLT   OF   THE   ANGELS 


CHAPTER  I 

CONTAINING  IN  A  FEW  LINES  THE  HISTORY  OF  A 
FRENCH  FAMILY  FROM  1/89  TO  THE  PRESENT 
DAY 

ENEATH  the  shadow  of  St.  Sulpice 
the  ancient  mansion  of  the  d'Espar- 
vieu  family  rears  its  austere  three 
stories  between  a  moss-grown  fore- 
court and  a  garden  hemmed  in 
as  the  years  have  elapsed,  by  ever  loftier  and  more 
intrusive  buildings,  wherein,  nevertheless,  two 
tall  chestnut  trees  still  lift  their  withered  heads. 

Here  from  1825  to  1857  dwelt  the  great  man  of 
the  family,  Alexandre  Bussart  d'Esparvieu,  Vice- 
President  of  the  Council  of  State  under  the  Govern- 
ment of  July,  Member  of  the  Academy  of  Moral 
and  Political  Sciences,  and  author  of  an  Essay  on  the 
Civil  and  Religious  Institutions  of  Nations,  in  three 
octavo  volumes,  a  work  unfortunately  left  in- 
complete. 

This   eminent   theorist   of  a   Liberal  monarchy 


4        THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

left  as  heir  to  his  name  his  fortune  and  his  fame, 
Fulgence  -  Adolphe  Bussart  d'Esparvieu,  senator 
under  the  second  Empire,  who  added  largely  to  his 
patrimony  by  buying  land  over  which  the  Avenue 
de  Plmperatice  was  destined  ultimately  to  pass, 
and  who  made  a  remarkable  speech  in  favour  of 
the  temporal  power  of  the  popes. 

Fulgence  had  three  sons.  The  eldest,  Marc- 
Alexandre,  entering  the  army,  made  a  splendid 
career  for  himself  :  he  was  a  good  speaker.  The 
second,  Gaetan,  showing  no  particular  aptitude  for 
anything,  lived  mostly  in  the  country,  where  he 
hunted,  bred  horses,  and  devoted  himself  to  music 
and  painting.  The  third  son,  Rene,  destined  from 
his  childhood  for  the  law,  resigned  his  deputyship 
to  avoid  complicity  in  the  Ferry  decrees  against 
the  religious  orders ;  and  later,  perceiving  the 
revival  under  the  presidency  of  Monsieur  Fallieres 
of  the  days  of  Decius  and  Diocletian,  put  his 
knowledge  and  zeal  at  the  service  of  the  persecuted 
Church. 

From  the  Concordat  of  1801  down  to  the  closing 
years  of  the  Second  Empire  all  the  d'Esparvieus 
attended  mass  for  the  sake  of  example.  Though 
sceptics  in  their  inmost  hearts,  they  looked  upon 
religion  as  an  instrument  of  government. 

Marc  and  Rene  were  the  first  of  their  race  to 
show  any  sign  of  sincere  devotion.  The  General, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS        5 

when  still  a  colonel,  had  dedicated  his  regiment  to 
the  Sacred  Heart,  and  he  practised  his  faith  with 
a  fervour  remarkable  even  in  a  soldier,  though  we 
all  know  that,  piety,  daughter  of  Heaven,  has 
marked  out  the  hearts  of  the  generals  of  the  Third 
Republic  as  her  chosen  dwelling-place  on  earth. 

Faith  has  its  vicissitudes.  Under  the  old  order 
the  masses  were  believers,  not  so  the  aris- 
tocracy or  the  educated  middle-class.  Under  the 
First  Empire  the  army  from  top  to  bottom  was 
entirely  irreligious.  To-day  the  masses  believe 
nothing.  The  middle  classes  wish  to  believe, 
and  succeed  at  times,  as  did  Marc  and  Rene 
d'Esparvieu.  Their  brother  Gaetan,  on  the  con- 
trary, the  country  gentleman,  failed  to  attain 
to  faith.  He  was  an  agnostic,  a  term  commonly 
employed  by  the  modish  to  avoid  the  odious 
one  of  freethinker.  And  he  openly  declared  him- 
self an  agnostic  contrary  to  the  admirable  custom 
which  deems  it  better  to  withhold  the  avowal. 

In  the  century  in  which  we  live  there  are  so 
many  modes  of  belief  and  of  unbelief  that  future 
historians  will  have  difficulty  in  finding  their  way 
about.  But  are  we  any  more  successful  in  dis- 
entangling the  condition  of  religious  beliefs  in  the 
time  of  Symmachus  or  of  Ambrose  ? 

A  fervent  Christian,  Rene  d'Esparvieu  was 
deeply  attached  to  the  liberal  ideas  his  ancestors 


6       THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

had  transmitted  to  him  as  a  sacred  heritage.  Com- 
pelled to  oppose  a  Jacobin  and  atheistical  Republic, 
he  still  called  himself  Republican.  And  it  was  in 
the  name  of  liberty  that  he  demanded  the  in- 
dependence and  sovereignty  of  the  Church. 

During  the  long  debates  on  the  Separation  and 
the  quarrels  over  the  Inventories,  the  synods  of  the 
bishops  and  the  assemblies  of  the  faithful  were 
held  in  his  house.  While  the  most  authoritatively 
accredited  leaders  of  the  Catholic  party :  prelates, 
generals,  senators,  deputies,  journalists,  were  met 
together  in  the  big  green  drawing-room,  and  every 
soul  present  turned  towards  Rome  with  a  tender 
submission  or  enforced  obedience;  while  Mon- 
sieur d'Esparvieu,  his  elbow  on  the  marble  chim- 
ney-piece, opposed  civil  law  to  canon  law,  and 
protested  eloquently  against  the  spoliation  of  the 
Church  of  France,  two  faces  of  other  days,  im- 
mobile and  speechless,  looked  down  on  the  modern 
crowd  ;  on  the  right  of  the  fire-place,  painted  by 
David,  was  Romain  Bussart,  a  working-farmer  at 
Esparvieu  in  shirt-sleeves  and  drill  trousers,  with  a 
rough-and-ready  air  not  untouched  with  cunning. 
He  had  good  reason  to  smile :  the  worthy  man  laid 
the  foundation  of  the  family  fortunes  when  he 
bought  Church  lands.  On  the  left,  painted  by 
Gerard  in  full-dress  bedizened  with  orders,  was  the 
peasant's  son,  Baron  Emile  Bussart  d'Esparvieu, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS        7 

prefect  under  the  Empire,  Keeper  of  the  Great 
Seal  under  Charles  X,  who  died  in  1837,  church- 
warden of  his  parish,  with  couplets  from  La  Pucelle 
on  his  lips. 

Rene  d'Esparvieu  married  in  1888  Marie- 
Antoinette  Coupelle,  daughter  of  Baron  Coupelle, 
ironmaster  at  Blainville  (Haute  Loire).  Madame 
Rene  d'Esparvieu  had  been  president  since  1 903  of  the 
Society  of  Christian  Mothers.  These  perfect  spouses, 
having  married  off  their  eldest  daughter  in  1908,  had 
three  children  still  at  home — a  girl  and  two  boys. 

Leon,  the  younger,  aged  seven,  had  a  room  next  to 
his  mother  and  his  sister  Berthe.  Maurice  the  elder, 
lived  in  a  little  pavilion  comprising  two  rooms 
at  the  bottom  of  the  garden.  The  young  man  thus 
gained  a  freedom  which  enabled  him  to  endure 
family  life.  He  was  rather  good-looking,  smart 
without  too  much  pretence,  and  the  faint  smile 
which  merely  raised  one  corner  of  his  mouth  did 
not  lack  charm. 

At  twenty-five  Maurice  possessed  the  wisdom  of 
Ecclesiastes.  Doubting  whether  a  man  hath  any 
profit  of  all  his  labour  which  he  taketh  under  the  sun 
he  never  put  himself  out  about  anything.  From 
his  earliest  childhood  this  young  hopeful's  sole  con- 
cern with  work  had  been  considering  how  he  might 
best  avoid  it,  and  it  was  through  his  remaining 
ignorant  of  the  teaching  of  the  Ecole  de  Droit 


8        THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

that  he  became  a  doctor  of  law  and  a  barrister  at 
the  Court  of  Appeal. 

He  neither  pleaded  nor  practised.  He  had  no 
knowledge  and  no  desire  to  acquire  any ;  wherein 
he  conformed  to  his  genius  whose  engaging  fragility 
he  forbore  to  overload  ;  his  instinct  fortunately- 
telling  him  that  it  was  better  to  understand  little 
than  to  misunderstand  a  lot. 

As  Monsieur  PAbbe  Patouille  expressed  it, 
Maurice  had  received  from  Heaven  the  benefits  of 
a  Christian  education.  From  his  childhood  piety 
was  shown  to  him  in  the  example  of  his  home,  and 
when  on  leaving  college  he  was  entered  at  the 
Ecole  de  Droit,  he  found  the  lore  of  the  doctors,  the 
virtues  of  the  confessors,  and  the  constancy  of  the 
nursing  mothers  of  the  Church  assembled  around 
the  paternal  hearth.  Admitted  to  social  and 
political  life  at  the  time  of  the  great  persecution  of 
the  Church  of  France,  Maurice  did  not  fail  to 
attend  every  manifestation  of  youthful  Catholicism; 
he  lent  a  hand  with  his  parish  barricades  at  the  time 
of  the  Inventories,  and  with  his  companions  he 
unharnessed  the  archbishop's  horses  when  he  was 
driven  out  from  his  palace.  He  showed  on  all 
these  occasions  a  modified  zeal ;  one  never  saw  him 
in  the  front  ranks  of  the  heroic  band  exciting 
soldiers  to  a  glorious  disobedience  or  flinging  mud 
and  curses  at  the  agents  of  the  law. 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS        9 

He  did  his  duty,  nothing  more,  and  if  he 
distinguished  himself  on  the  occasion  of  the  great 
pilgrimage  of  1911  among  the  stretcher-bearers  at 
Lourdes,  we  have  reason  to  fear  it  was  but  to  please 
Madame  de  la  Verdeliere,  who  admired  men  of 
muscle.  Abbe  Patouille,  a  friend  of  the  family  and 
deeply  versed  in  the  knowledge  of  souls,  knew  that 
Maurice  had  only  moderate  aspirations  to  martyr- 
dom. He  reproached  him  with  his  lukewarmness, 
and  pulled  his  ear,  calling  him  a  bad  lot.  Anyway, 
Maurice  remained  a  believer. 

Amid  the  distractions  of  youth  his  faith  remained 
intact,  since  he  left  it  severely  alone.  He  had  never 
examined  a  single  tenet.  Nor  had  he  enquired  a 
whit  more  closely  into  the  ideas  of  morality  current 
in  the  grade  of  society  to  which  he  belonged.  He 
took  them  just  as  they  came.  Thus  in  every  situa- 
tion that  arose  he  cut  an  eminently  respectable 
figure  which  he  would  have  assuredly  failed  to  do, 
had  he  been  given  to  meditating  on  the  foundations 
of  morality.  He  was  irritable  and  hot-tempered 
and  possessed  of  a  sense  of  honour  which  he  was  at 
great  pains  to  cultivate.  He  was  neither  vain  nor 
ambitious.  Like  the  majority  of  Frenchmen,  he 
disliked  parting  with  his  money.  Women  would 
never  have  obtained  anything  from  him  had  they 
not  known  the  way  to  make  him  give.  He  believed 
he  despised  them  ;  the  truth  was  he  adored  them. 


io      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

He  indulged  his  appetites  so  naturally  that  he  never 
suspected  that  he  had  any.  What  people  did  not 
know,  himself  least  of  all, — though  the  gleam  that 
occasionally  shone  in  his  fine,  light-brown  eyes 
might  have  furnished  the  hint — was  that  he  had  a 
warm  heart  and  was  capable  of  friendship.  For  the 
rest,  he  was,  in  the  ordinary  intercourse  of  life,  no 
very  brilliant  specimen. 


CHAPTER  II 

WHEREIN  USEFUL  INFORMATION  WILL  BE  FOUND 
CONCERNING  A  LIBRARY  WHERE  STRANGE  THINGS 
WILL  SHORTLY  COME  TO  PASS 

ESIROUS  of  embracing  the  whole 
circle  of  human  knowledge,  and 
anxious  to  bequeath  to  the  world 
a  concrete  symbol  of  his  ency- 
clopaedic genius  and  a  display  in 
keeping  with  his  pecuniary  resources,  Baron  Alex- 
andre  d'Esparvieu  had  formed  a  library  of  three 
hundred  and  sixty  thousand  volumes,  both  printed 
and  in  manuscript,  whereof  the  greater  part 
emanated  from  the  Benedictines  of  Liguge. 

By  a  special  clause  in  his  will  he  enjoined  his 
heirs  to  add  to  his  library,  after  his  death,  whatever 
they  might  deem  worthy  of  note  in  natural,  moral, 
political,  philosophical,  and  religious  science. 

He  had  indicated  the  sums  which  might  be 
drawn  from  his  estate  for  the  fulfilment  of  this 
object,  and  charged  his  eldest  son,  Fulgence 
Adolphe,  to  proceed  with  these  additions.  Fulgence 

B  II 


12      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

Adolphe  accomplished  with  filial  respect  the  wishes 
expressed  by  his  illustrious  father. 

After  him,  this  huge  library,  which  represented 
more  than  one  child's  share  of  the  estate,  remained 
undivided  between  the  Senator's  three  sons  and  two 
daughters;  and  Rene  d'Esparvieu,  on  whom  devolved 
the  house  in  the  Rue Garanciere,  became  the  guardian 
of  the  valuable  collection.  His  two  sisters,  Madame 
Paulet  de  Saint-Fain  and  Madame  Cuissart,  re- 
peatedly demanded  that  such  a  large  but  un- 
remunerative  piece  of  property  should  be  turned 
into  money.  But  Rene  and  Gaetan  bought  in  the 
shares  of  their  two  co-legatees,  and  the  library  was 
saved.  Rene  d'Esparvieu  even  busied  himself  in 
adding  to  it,  thus  fulfilling  the  intentions  of  its 
founder.  But  from  year  to  year  he  lessened  the 
number  and  importance  of  the  acquisitions,  opining 
that  the  intellectual  output  in  Europe  was  on  the 
wane. 

Nevertheless,  Gaetan  enriched  it  out  of  his 
funds,  with  works  published  both  in  France  and 
abroad  which  he  thought  good,  and  he  was  not 
lacking  in  judgment,  though  his  brothers  would 
never  allow  that  he  had  a  particle.  Thanks  to 
this  man  of  leisurely  and  inquiring  mind,  Baron 
Alexandre's  collection  was  kept  practically  up  to 
date.  Even  at  the  present  day  the  d'Esparvieu 
library,  in  the  departments  of  theology,  juris- 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      13 

prudence,  and  history  is  one  of  the  finest  private 
libraries  in  all  Europe.  Here  you  may  study 
physical  science,  or  to  put  it  better,  physical 
sciences  in  all  their  branches,  and  for  that  matter 
metaphysic  or  metaphysics,  that  is  to  say,  all  that 
is  connected  with  physics  and  has  no  other 
name,  so  impossible  is  it  to  designate  by  a  sub- 
stantive that  which  has  no  substance,  and  is  but 
a  dream  and  an  illusion.  Here  you  may  con- 
template with  admiration  philosophers  addressing 
themselves  to  the  solution,  dissolution,  and  .reso- 
lution of  the  Absolute,  to  the  determination  of  the 
Indeterminate  and  to  the  definition  of  the  Infinite. 

Amid  this  pile  of  books  and  booklets,  both  sacred 
and  profane,  you  may  find  everything  down  to  the 
latest  and  most  fashionable  pragmatism. 

Other  libraries  there  are,  more  richly  abounding 
in  bindings  of  venerable  antiquity  and  illustrious 
origin,  whose  smooth  and  soft-hued  texture  render 
them  delicious  to  the  touch ;  bindings  which  the 
gilder's  art  has  enriched  with  gossamer,  lace- 
work,  foliage,  flowers,  emblematic  devices,  and 
coats  of  arms ;  bindings  that  charm  the  studious  eye 
with  their  tender  radiance.  Other  libraries  perhaps 
harbour  a  greater  array  of  manuscripts  illumi- 
nated with  delicate  and  brilliant  miniatures  by 
artists  of  Venice,  Flanders  or  Touraine.  But  in 
handsome,  sound  editions  of  ancient  and  modern 


i4      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

writers,  both  sacred  and  profane,  the  d'Esparvieu 
library  is  second  to  none.  Here  one  finds  all  that 
has  come  down  to  us  from  antiquity ;  all  the 
Fathers  of  the  Church,  the  Apologists  and  the 
Decretalists,  all  the  Humanists  of  the  Renaissance, 
all  the  Encyclopaedists,  the  whole  world  of  philo- 
sophy and  science.  Therefore  it  was  that  Cardinal 
Merlin,  when  he  deigned  to  visit  it,  remarked : 

"  There  is  no  man  whose  brain  is  equal  to  con- 
taining all  the  knowledge  which  is  piled  upon  these 
shelves.  Happily  it  doesn't  matter." 

Monseigneur  Cachepot,  who  worked  there  often 
when  a  curate  in  Paris,  was  in  the  habit  of 
saying : 

"  I  see  here  the  stuff  to  make  many  a  Thomas 
Aquinas  and  many  an  Arius,  if  only  the  modern 
mind  had  not  lost  its  ancient  ardour  for  good  and 
evil." 

There  was  no  gainsaying  that  the  manuscripts 
formed  the  more  valuable  portion  of  this  immense 
collection.  Noteworthy  indeed  was  the  un- 
published correspondence  of  Gassendi,  of  Father 
Mersenne,  and  of  Pascal,  which  threw  a  new  light 
on  the  spirit  of  the  seventeenth  century.  Nor 
must  we  forget  the  Hebrew  Bibles,  the  Talmuds, 
the  Rabbinical  treatises,  printed  and  in  manuscript, 
the  Aramaic  and  Samaritan  texts,  on  sheepskin  and 
on  tablets  of  sycamore ;  in  fine,  all  those  antique 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS   15 

and  valuable  copies  collected  in  Egypt  and  in  Syria 
by  the  celebrated  Moise  de  Dina,  and  acquired  at 
a  small  cost  by  Alexandre  d'Esparvieu  in  1836, 
when  the  learned  Hebraist  died  of  old  age  and 
poverty  in  Paris. 

The  Esparvienne  library  occupied  the  whole  of 
the  second  floor  of  the  old  house.  The  works 
thought  to  be  of  but  mediocre  interest,  such  as 
books  of  Protestant  exegesis  of  the  nineteenth  and 
twentieth  centuries,  the  gift  of  Monsieur  Gaetan, 
were  relegated  unbound  to  the  limbo  of  the  upper 
regions.  The  catalogue,  with  its  various  supple- 
ments, ran  into  no  less  than  eighteen  folio  volumes. 
It  was  quite  up  to  date,  and  the  library  was  in 
perfect  order.  Monsieur  Julien  Sariette,  archivist 
and  paleographer,  who,  being  poor  and  retiring, 
used  to  make  his  living  by  teaching,  became,  in 
1895,  tutor  to  young  Maurice  on  the  recommenda- 
tion of  the  Bishop  of  Agra,  and  with  scarcely  an 
interval  found  himself  curator  of  the  Bibliotheque 
Esparvienne.  Endowed  with  business-like  energy 
and  dogged  patience,  Monsieur  Sariette  himself 
classified  all  the  members  of  this  vast  body.  The 
system  he  invented  and  put  into  practice  was  so 
complicated,  the  labels  he  put  on  the  books  were 
made  up  of  so  many  capital  letters  and  small 
letters,  both  Latin  and  Greek,  so  many  Arabic 
and  Roman  numerals,  asterisks,  double  asterisks, 


i6      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

triple  asterisks,  and  those  signs  which  in  arithmetic 
express  powers  and  roots,  that  the  mere  study  of  it 
would  have  involved  more  time  and  labour  than 
would  have  been  required  for  the  complete  mastery  of 
algebra,  and  as  no  one  could  be  found  who  would  give 
the  hours,  that  might  be  more  profitably  employed 
in  discovering  the  law  of  numbers,  to  the  solving  of 
these  cryptic  symbols,  Monsieur  Sariette  remained 
the  only  one  capable  of  finding  his  way  among  the 
intricacies  of  his  system,  and  without  his  help  it 
had  become  an  utter  impossibility  to  discover 
among  the  three  hundred  and  sixty  thousand 
volumes  confided  to  his  care,  the  particular  volume 
one  happened  to  require.  Such  was  the  result  of 
his  labours.  Far  from  complaining  about  it,  he 
experienced  on  the  contrary  a  lively  satisfaction. 

Monsieur  Sariette  loved  his  library.  He  loved  it 
with  a  jealous  love.  He  was  there  every  day  at 
seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  busy  cataloguing  at  a 
huge  mahogany  desk.  The  slips  in  his  handwriting 
filled  an  enormous  case  standing  by  his  side  sur- 
mounted by  a  plaster  bust  of  Alexandre  d'Espar- 
vieu.  Alexandre  wore  his  hair  brushed  straight  back, 
and  had  a  sublime  look  on  his  face.  Like  Chateau- 
briand, he  affected  little  feathery  side  whiskers.  His 
lips  were  pursed,  his  bosom  bare.  Punctually  at 
midday  Monsieur  Sariette  used  to  sally  forth  to 
lunch  at  a  cremerie  in  the  narrow  gloomy  Rue  des 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      17 

Canettes.  It  was  known  as  the  Cremerie  des 
Qua.tr  e  Eveques,  and  had  once  been  the  haunt  of 
Baudelaire,  Theodore  de  Banville,  Charles  Asseli- 
neau,  and  a  certain  grandee  of  Spain  who  had  trans- 
lated the  "  Mysteries  of  Paris "  into  the  language 
of  the  conquistadores.  And  the  ducks  that  paddled 
so  nicely  on  the  old  stone  sign  which  gave  its  name 
to  the  street  used  to  recognize  Monsieur  Sariette. 
At  a  quarter  to  one,  to  the  very  minute,  he  went 
back  to  his  library,  where  he  remained  until  seven 
o'clock.  He  then  again  betook  himself  to  the 
Quatre  Eveques,  and  sat  down  to  his  frugal  dinner, 
with  its  crowning  glory  of  stewed  prunes.  Every 
evening,  after  dinner,  his  crony,  Monsieur  Guinar- 
don,  universally  known  as  Pere  Guinardon,  a  scene- 
painter  and  picture-restorer,  who  used  to  do  work 
for  churches,  would  come  from  his  garret  in  the 
Rue  Princesse  to  have  his  coffee  and  liqueur  at  the 
Quatre  Eveques,  and  the  two  friends  would  play 
their  game  of  dominoes. 

Old  Guinardon,  who  was  like  some  rugged  old 
tree  still  full  of  sap,  was  older  than  he  could  bring 
himself  to  believe.  He  had  known  Chenavard. 
His  chastity  was  positively  ferocious,  and  he  was 
for  ever  denouncing  the  impurities  of  neo-paganism 
in  language  of  alarming  obscenity.  He  loved 
talking.  Monsieur  Sariette  was  a  ready  listener. 
Old  Guinardon's  favourite  subject  was  the  Chapelle 


1 8      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

des  Anges  in  St.  Sulpice,  in  which  the  paintings 
were  peeling  off  the  walls,  and  which  he  was  one 
day  to  restore ;  when,  that  is,  it  should  please  God, 
for,  since  the  Separation,  the  churches  belonged 
solely  to  God,  and  no  one  would  undertake  the 
responsibility  of  even  the  most  urgent  repairs.  But 
old  Guinardon  demanded  no  salary. 

"  Michael  is  my  patron  saint,"  he  said.  "  And 
I  have  a  special  devotion  for  the  Holy  Angels." 

After  they  had  had  their  game  of  dominoes, 
Monsieur  Sariette,  very  thin  and  small,  and  old 
Guinardon,  sturdy  as  an  oak,  hirsute  as  a  lion,  and 
tall  as  a  Saint  Christopher,  went  off  chatting  away 
side  by  side  across  the  Place  Saint  Sulpice,  heedless 
of  whether  the  night  were  fine  or  stormy.  Monsieur 
Sariette  always  went  straighthome,muchtothe regret 
of  the  painter,  who  was  a  gossip  and  a  night-bird. 

The  following  day,  as  the  clock  struck  seven, 
Monsieur  Sariette  would  take  up  his  place  in  the 
library,  and  resume  his  cataloguing.  As  he  sat  at 
his  desk,  however,  he  would  dart  a  Medusa-like 
look  at  anyone  who  entered,  fearing  lest  he  should 
prove  to  be  a  book-borrower.  It  was  not  merely 
the  magistrates,  politicians,  and  prelates  whom  he 
would  have  liked  to  turn  to  stone  when  they  came 
to  ask  for  the  loan  of  a  book  with  an  air  of  authority 
bred  of  their  familiarity  with  the  master  of  the 
house.  He  would  have  done  as  much  to  Monsieur 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      19 

Gaetan,  the  library's  benefactor,  when  he  wanted 
some  gay  or  scandalous  old  volume  wherewith  to 
beguile  a  wet  day  in  the  country.  He  would  have 
meted  out  similar  treatment  to  Madame  Rene 
d'Esparvieu,  when  she  came  to  look  for  a  book  to 
read  to  her  sick  poor  in  hospital,  and  even  to 
Monsieur  Rene  d'Esparvieu  himself,  who  generally 
contented  himself  with  the  Civil  Code  and  a  volume 
of  Dalloz.  The  borrowing  of  the  smallest  book 
seemed  like  dragging  his  heart  out.  To  refuse  a 
volume  even  to  such  as  had  the  most  incontestable 
right  to  it,  Monsieur  Sariette  would  invent  count- 
less far-fetched  or  clumsy  fibs,  and  did  not  even 
shrink  from  slandering  himself  as  curator  or  from 
casting  doubts  on  his  own  vigilance  by  saying  that 
such  and  such  a  book  was  mislaid  or  lost,  when  a 
moment  ago  he  had  been  gloating  over  that  very 
volume  or  pressing  it  to  his  bosom.  And  when 
ultimately  forced  to  part  with  a  volume  he  would 
take  it  back  a  score  of  times  from  the  borrower 
before  he  finally  relinquished  it. 

He  was  always  in  agony  lest  one  of  the  objects 
confided  to  his  care  should  escape  him.  As  the 
guardian  of  three  hundred  and  sixty  thousand 
volumes,  he  had  three  hundred  and  sixty  thousand 
reasons  for  alarm.  Sometimes  he  woke  at  night 
bathed  in  sweat,  and  uttering  a  cry  of  fear,  because 
he  had  dreamed  he  had  seen  a  gap  on  one  of  the 


20      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

shelves  of  his  bookcases.  It  seemed  to  him  a 
monstrous,  unheard-of,  and  most  grievous  thing 
that  a  volume  should  leave  its  habitat.  This 
noble  rapacity  exasperated  Monsieur  Rene  d'Espar- 
vieu,  who,  failing  to  understand  the  good  qualities 
of  his  paragon  of  a  librarian,  called  him  an  old 
maniac.  Monsieur  Sariette  knew  nought  of  this 
injustice,  but  he  would  have  braved  the  cruellest 
misfortune  and  endured  opprobrium  and  insult  to 
safeguard  the  integrity  of  his  trust.  Thanks  to  his 
assiduity,  his  vigilance  and  zeal,  or,  in  a  word,  to 
his  love,  the  Esparvienne  library  had  not  lost  so 
much  as  a  single  leaflet  under  his  supervision  during 
the  sixteen  years  which  had  now-  rolled  by,  this 
ninth  of  September,  1912. 


CHAPTER  III 


WHEREIN    THE   MYSTERY    BEGINS 

T  seven  o'clock  on  the  evening  of 
that  day,  having  as  usual  replaced 
all  the  books  which  had  been  taken 
from  their  shelves,  and  having  as- 
sured himself  that  he  was  leaving 
everything  in  good  order,  he  quitted  the  library, 
double-locking  the  door  after  him.  According  to 
his  usual  habit,  he  dined  at  the  Cremerie  des 
Quatre  Eveques,  read  his  newspaper,  La  Croix,  and 
at  ten  o'clock  went  home  to  his  little  house  in 
the  Rue  du  Regard.  The  good  man  had  no  trouble 
and  no  presentiment  of  evil ;  his  sleep  was  peaceful. 
The  next  morning  at  seven  o'clock  to  the  minute, 
he  entered  the  little  room  leading  to  the  library, 
and,  according  to  his  daily  habit,  doffed  his  grand 
frock-coat,  and  taking  down  an  old  one  which  hung 
in  a  cupboard  over  his  washstand,  put  it  on.  Then 
he  went  in  to  his  workroom,  where  for  sixteen  years 
he  had  been  cataloguing  six  days  out  of  the  seven, 
under  the  lofty  gaze  of  Alexandre  d'Esparvieu. 
Preparing  to  make  a  round  of  the  various  rooms^  he 


21 


22      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

entered  the  first  and  largest,  which  contained  works 
on  theology  and  religion  in  huge  cupboards  whose 
cornices  were  adorned  with  bronze-coloured  busts 
of  poets  and  orators  of  ancient  days. 

Two  enormous  globes  representing  the  earth  and 
the  heavens  filled  the  window-embrasures.  But  at  his 
first  step  Monsieur  Sariette  stopped  dead,  stupefied, 
powerless  alike  to  doubt  or  to  credit  what  his  eyes 
beheld.  On  the  blue  cloth  cover  of  the  writing- 
table  books  lay  scattered  about  pell-mell,  some 
lying  flat,  some  standing  upright.  A  number  of 
quartos  were  heaped  up  in  a  tottering  pile.  Two 
Greek  lexicons,  one  inside  the  other,  formed  a 
single  being  more  monstrous  in  shape  than  the 
human  couples  of  the  divine  Plato.  A  gilt-edged 
folio  was  all  a-gape,  showing  three  of  its  leaves 
disgracefully  dog's-eared. 

Having,  after  an  interval  of  some  moments, 
recovered  from  his  profound  amazement,  the 
librarian  went  up  to  the  table  and  recognised  in 
the  confused  mass  his  most  valuable  Hebrew, 
French,  and  Latin  Bibles,  a  unique  Talmud,  Rab- 
binical treatises  printed  and  in  manuscript,  Aramaic 
and  Samaritan  texts  and  scrolls  from  the  synagogues 
— in  fine,  the  most  precious  relics  of  Israel  all  lying 
in  a  disordered  heap,  gaping  and  crumpled. 

Monsieur  Sariette  found  himself  confronted  with 
an  inexplicable  phenomenon ;  nevertheless  he  sought 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      23 

to  account  for  it.  How  eagerly  he  would  have 
welcomed  the  idea  that  Monsieur  Gaetan,  who, 
being  a  thoroughly  unprincipled  man,  presumed  on 
the  right  gained  him  by  his  fatal  liberality  towards 
the  library  to  rummage  there  unhindered  during  his 
sojourns  in  Paris,  had  been  the  author  of  this 
terrible  disorder.  But  Monsieur  Gaetan  was  away 
travelling  in  Italy.  After  pondering  for  some 
minutes  Monsieur  Sariette's  next  supposition  was 
that  Monsieur  Rene  d'Esparvieu  had  entered  the 
library  late  in  the  evening  with  the  keys  of  his  man- 
servant Hippolyte,  who,  for  the  past  twenty-five 
years,  had  looked  after  the  second  floor  and  the 
attics.  Monsieur  Rene  d'Esparvieu,  however,  never 
worked  at  night,  and  did  not  read  Hebrew.  Perhaps, 
thought  Monsieur  Sariette,  perhaps  he  had  brought 
or  allowed  to  be  brought  to  this  room  some  priest, 
or  Jerusalem  monk,  on  his  way  through  Paris ; 
some  Oriental  savant  given  to  scriptural  exegesis. 
Monsieur  Sariette  next  wondered  whether  the 
Abbe  Patouille,  who  had  an  enquiring  mind,  and 
also  a  habit  of  dog's-earing  his  books,  had,  per- 
adventure,  flung  himself  on  these  talmudic  and 
biblical  texts,  fired  with  sudden  zeal  to  lay  bare  the 
soul  of  Shem.  He  even  asked  himself  for  a  moment 
whether  Hippolyte,  the  old  manservant,  who  had 
swept  and  dusted  the  library  for  a  quarter  of  a 
century,  and  had  been  slowly  poisoned  by  the  dust 


24      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

of  accumulated  knowledge,  had  allowed  his  curiosity 
to  get  the  better  of  him,  and  had  been  there  during 
the  night,  ruining  his  eyesight  and  his  reason,  and 
losing  his  soul  poring  by  moonlight  over  these 
undecipherable  symbols.  Monsieur  Sariette  even 
went  so  far  as  to  imagine  that  young  Maurice,  on 
leaving  his  club  or  some  nationalist  meeting,  might 
have  torn  these  Jewish  volumes  from  their  shelves, 
out  of  hatred  for  old  Jacob  and  his  modern  posterity; 
for  this  young  man  of  family  was  a  declared  anti- 
semite,  and  only  consorted  with  those  Jews  who 
were  as  anti-semitic  as  himself.  It  was  giving  a  very 
free  rein  to  his  imagination,  but  Monsieur  Sariette's 
brain  could  not  rest,  and  went  wandering  about 
among  speculations  of  the  wildest  extravagance. 

Impatient  to  know  the  truth,  the  zealous  guardian 
of  the  library  called  the  manservant. 

Hippolyte  knew  nothing.  The  porter  at  the 
lodge  could  not  furnish  any  clue.  None  of  the 
domestics  had  heard  a  sound.  Monsieur  Sariette 
went  down  to  the  study  of  Monsieur  Rene  d'Espar- 
vieu,  who  received  him  in  nightcap  and  dressing- 
gown,  listened  to  his  story  with  the  air  of  a  serious 
man  bored  with  idle  chatter,  and  dismissed  him  with 
words  which  conveyed  a  cruel  implication  of  pity. 

"  Do  not  worry,  my  good  Monsieur  Sariette  ;  be 
sure  that  the  books  were  lying  where  you  left  them 
last  night." 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS   25 

Monsieur  Sariette  reiterated  his  enquiries  a 
score  of  times,  discovered  nothing,  and  suffered 
such  anxiety  that  sleep  entirely  forsook  him. 
When,  on  the  following  day  at  seven  o'clock  he 
entered  the  room  with  the  busts  and  globes,  and 
saw  that  all  was  in  order,  he  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief. 
Then  suddenly  his  heart  beat  fit  to  burst.  He  had 
just  seen  lying  flat  on  the  mantelpiece  a  paper- 
bound  volume,  a  modern  work,  the  boxwood 
paper-knife  which  had  served  to  cut  its  pages  still 
thrust  between  the  leaves.  It  was  a  dissertation  on 
the  two  parallel  versions  of  Genesis,  a  work  which 
Monsieur  Sariette  had  relegated  to  the  attic,  and 
which  had  never  left  it  up  to  now,  no  one  in 
Monsieur  d'Esparvieu's  circle  having  had  the 
curiosity  to  differentiate  between  the  parts  for 
which  the  polytheistic  and  monotheistic  contribu- 
tors were  respectively  responsible  in  the  formation 
of  the  first  of  the  sacred  books.  This  book  bore  the 
label  R>32I4™!.  And  this  painful  truth  was 
suddenly  borne  in  upon  the  mind  of  Monsieur 
Sariette :  to  wit  that  the  most  scientific  system  of 
numbering  will  not  help  to  find  a  book  if  the  book 
is  no  longer  in  its  place.  Every  day  of  the  ensuing 
month  found  the  table  littered  with  books.  Greek 
and  Latin  lay  cheek  by  jowl  with  Hebrew. 
Monsieur  Sariette  asked  himself  whether  these 
nocturnal  flittings  were  the  work  of  evil-doers 


26     THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

who  entered  by  the  skylights  to  steal  valuable  and 
precious  volumes.  But  he  found  no  traces  of 
burglary,  and,  notwithstanding  the  most  minute 
search,  failed  to  discover  that  anything  had  dis- 
appeared. Terrible  anxiety  took  possession  of  his 
mind,  and  he  fell  to  wondering  whether  it  was 
possible  that  some  monkey  in  the  neighbourhood 
came  down  the  chimney  and  acted  the  part  of  a 
person  engaged  in  study.  Deriving  his  knowledge 
of  the  habits  of  these  animals  in  the  main  from  the 
paintings  of  Watteau  and  Chardin,  he  took  it  that, 
in  the  art  of  imitating  gestures  or  assuming  charac- 
ters they  resembled  Harlequin,  Scaramouch,  Zerlin, 
and  the  Doctors  of  the  Italian  comedy  ;  he  imagined 
them  handling  a  palette  and  brushes,  pounding 
drugs  in  a  mortar,  or  turning  over  the  leaves  of  an 
old  treatise  on  alchemy  beside  an  athanor.  And  so 
it  was  that,  when,  on  one  unhappy  morning,  he  saw 
a  huge  blot  of  ink  on  one  of  the  leaves  of  the  third 
volume  of  the  polyglot  Bible  bound  in  blue  morocco 
and  adorned  with  the  arms  of  the  Comte  de  Mira- 
beau,  he  had  no  doubt  that  a  monkey  was  the  author 
of  the  evil  deed.  The  monkey  had  been  pretending 
to  take  notes  and  had  upset  the  inkpot.  It  must  be 
a  monkey  belonging  to  a  learned  professor. 

Imbued  with  this  idea,  Monsieur  Sariette  care- 
fully studied  the  topography  of  the  district,  so 
as  to  draw  a  cordon  round  the  group  of  houses 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      27 

amid  which  the  d'Esparvieu  house  stood.  Then 
he  visited  the  four  surrounding  streets,  asking 
at  every  door  if  there  was  a  monkey  in  the  house. 
He  interrogated  porters  and  their  wives,  washer- 
women, servants,  a  cobbler,  a  greengrocer,  a  glazier, 
clerks  in  bookshops,  a  priest,  a  bookbinder,  two 
guardians  of  the  peace,  children,  thus  testing  the 
diversity  of  character  and  variety  of  temper  in  one 
and  the  same  people  ;  for  the  replies  he  received 
were  quite  dissimilar  in  nature;  some  were  rough, 
some  were  gentle ;  there  were  the  coarse  and  the 
polished,  the  simple  and  the  ironical,  the  prolix  and 
the  abrupt,  the  brief  and  even  the  silent.  But  of 
the  animal  he  sought  he  had  had  neither  sight  nor 
sound,  when  under  the  archway  of  an  old  house  in 
the  Rue  Servandoni,  a  small,  freckled,  red-haired 
girl  who  looked  after  the  door  made  reply : 

"  There  is  Monsieur  Ordonneau's  monkey  ;  would 
you  care  to  see  it  ?  " 

And  without  another  word  she  conducted  the  old 
man  to  a  stable  at  the  other  end  of  the  yard.  There 
on  some  rank  straw  and  old  bits  of  cloth,  a  young 
macaco  with  a  chain  round  his  middle  sat  and 
shivered.  He  was  no  taller  than  a  five-year-old 
child.  His  livid  face,  his  wrinkled  brow,  his  thin 
lips  were  all  expressive  of  mortal  sadness.  He  fixed 
on  the  visitor  the  still  lively  gaze  of  his  yellow 
eyes.  Then  with  his  small,  dry  hand  he  seized  a 


28      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

carrot,  put  it  to  his  mouth,  and  forthwith  flung  it 
away.  Having  looked  at  the  new-comers  for  a 
moment,  the  exile  turned  away  his  head,  as  if  he 
expected  nothing  further  of  mankind  or  of  life. 
Sitting  huddled  up,  one  knee  in  his  hand,  he  made 
no  further  movement,  but  at  times  a  dry  cough 
shook  his  breast. 

"  It's  Edgar,"  said  the  small  girl.  "  He  is  for 
sale,  you  know." 

But  the  old  book-lover,  who  had  come  armed  with 
anger  and  resentment,  thinking  to  find  a  cynical 
enemy,  a  monster  of  malice,  an  antibibliophile, 
stopped  short,  surprised,  saddened,  and  overcome, 
before  this  little  being  devoid  of  strength  and  joy 
and  hope. 

Recognising  his  mistake,  troubled  by  the  almost 
human  face  which  sorrow  and  suffering  made  more 
human  still,  he  murmured,  "  Forgive  me,"  and 
bowed  his  head. 


CHAPTER  IV 

WHICH     IN     ITS    FORCEFUL    BREVITY    PROJECTS    US    TO 
THE    LIMITS    OF   THE   ACTUAL   WORLD 

WO  months  elapsed  ;  the  domestic 
upheaval  did  not  subside,  and 
Monsieur  Sariette's  thoughts  turned 
to  the  Freemasons.  The  papers  he 
read  were  full  of  their  crimes. 
Abbe  Patouille  deemed  them  capable  of  the  darkest 
deeds,  and  believed  them  to  be  in  league  with 
the  Jews  and  meditating  the  total  overthrow  of 
Christendom. 

Having  now  arrived  at  the  acme  of  power,  they 
wielded  a  dominating  influence  in  all  the  principal 
departments  of  State,  they  ruled  the  Chambers, 
there  were  five  of  them  in  the  Ministry,  and  they 
filled  the  Elysee.  Having  some  time  since 
assassinated  a  President  of  the  Republic  because  he 
was  a  patriot,  they  were  getting  rid  of  the  accom- 
plices and  witnesses  of  their  execrable  crime.  Few 
days  passed  without  Paris  being  terror-stricken  at 
some  mysterious  murder  hatched  in  their  Lodges. 

29 


30      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

These  were  facts  concerning  which  no  doubt  was 
possible.  By  what  means  did  they  gain  access  to 
the  library  ?  Monsieur  Sariette  could  not  imagine. 
What  task  had  they  come  to  fulfil  ?  Why  did  they 
attack  sacred  antiquity  and  the  origins  of  the 
Church  ?  What  impious  designs  were  they  forming? 
A  heavy  shadow  hung  over  these  terrible  under- 
takings. The  Catholic  archivist,  feeling  himself 
under  the  eye  of  the  sons  of  Hiram,  was  terrified 
and  fell  ill. 

Scarcely  had  he  recovered,  when  he  resolved  to 
pass  the  night  in  the  very  spot  where  these  terrible 
mysteries  were  enacted,  and  to  take  the  subtle  and 
dangerous  visitors  by  surprise.  It  was  an  enterprise 
that  demanded  all  his  slender  courage.  Being 
a  man  of  delicate  physique  and  of  nervous  tempera- 
ment, Monsieur  Sariette  was  naturally  inclined  to 
be  fearful.  On  the  8th  of  January  at  nine  o'clock  in 
the  evening,  while  the  city  lay  asleep  under  a  whirling 
snowstorm,  he  built  up  a  good  fire  in  the  room 
containing  the  busts  of  the  ancient  poets  and 
philosophers,  and  ensconced  himself  in  an  arm- 
chair at  the  chimney  corner,  a  rug  over  his  knees. 
On  a  small  stand  within  reach  of  his  hand  were  a 
lamp,  a  bowl  of  black  coffee,  and  a  revolver  borrowed 
from  the  youthful  Maurice.  He  tried  to  read  his 
paper,  La  Croix,  but  the  letters  danced  beneath 
his  eyes.  So  he  stared  hard  in  front  of  him,  saw 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      31 

nothing  but  the  shadows,  heard  nothing  but  the 
wind,  and  fell  asleep. 

When  he  awoke  the  fire  was  out,  the  lamp  was 
extinguished,  leaving  an  acrid  smell  behind.  But 
all  around,  the  darkness  was  filled  with  milky 
brightness  and  phosphorescent  lights.  He  thought 
he  saw  something  flutter  on  the  table.  Stricken  to 
the  marrow  with  cold  and  terror,  but  upheld  by  a 
resolve  stronger  than  any  fear,  he  rose,  approached 
the  table,  and  passed  his  hands  over  the  cloth.  He 
saw  nothing  ;  even  the  lights  faded,  but  under  his 
fingers  he  felt  a  folio  wide  open  ;  he  tried  to  close 
it,  the  book  resisted,  jumped  up  and  hit  the  im- 
prudent librarian  three  blows  on  the  head. 

Monsieur  Sariette  fell  down  unconscious.  .  .  . 

Since  then  things  had  gone  from  bad  to  worse. 
Books  left  their  allotted  shelves  in  greater  pro- 
fusion than  ever,  and  sometimes  it  was  impossible 
to  replace  them,  they  disappeared.  Monsieur 
Sariette  discovered  fresh  losses  daily.  The  Bol- 
landists  were  now  an  imperfect  set,  thirty  volumes 
of  exegesis  were  missing.  He  himself  had  become 
unrecognisable.  His  face  had  shrunk  to  the  size  of 
one's  fist  and  grown  yellow  as  a  lemon,  his  neck  was 
elongated  out  of  all  proportion,  his  shoulders 
drooped,  the  clothes  he  wore  hung  on  him  as  on 
a  peg.  He  ate  nothing,  and  at  the  Cremerie  des 
Quatre  Eveques  he  would  sit  with  dull  eyes  and 


32      THE -REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

bowed  head,  staring  fixedly  and  vacantly  at  the 
saucer  where,  in  a  muddy  juice,  floated  his  stewed 
prunes.  He  did  not  hear  old  Guinardon  relate 
how  he  had  at  last  begun  to  restore  the  Delacroix 
paintings  at  St.  Sulpice. 

Monsieur  Rene  d'Esparvieu,  when  he  heard  the 
unhappy  curator's  alarming  reports,  used  to  answer 
drily : 

"  These  books  have  been  mislaid,  they  are  not 
lost ;  look  carefully,  Monsieur  Sariette,  look  care- 
fully and  you  will  find  them." 

And  he  murmured  behind  the  old  man's  back: 
"  Poor  old  Sariette  is  in  a  bad  way." 
"  I   think,"   replied   Abbe   Patouille,   "  that   his 
brain  is  going." 


CHAPTER   V 

WHEREIN    EVERYTHING    SEEMS    STRANGE    BECAUSE 
EVERYTHING    IS   LOGICAL 

HE  Chapel  of  the  Holy  Angels, 
which  lies  on  the  right  hand  as 
you  enter  the  Church  of  St.  Sulpice, 
was  hidden  behind  a  scaffolding  of 
planks.  Abbe  Patouille,  Monsieur 
Gaetan,  Monsieur  Maurice,  his  nephew,  and 
Monsieur  Sariette,  entered  in  single  file  through 
the  low  door  cut  in  the  wooden  hoarding,  and 
found  old  Guinardon  on  the  top  of  his  ladder 
standing  in  front  of  the  Heliodorus.  The  old 
artist,  surrounded  by  all  sorts  of  tools  and  materials, 
was  putting  a  white  paste  in  the  crack  which  cut 
in  two  the  High  Priest  Onias.  Zephyrine,  Paul 
Baudry's  favourite  model,  Zephyrine,  who  had 
lent  her  golden  hair  and  polished  shoulders  to  so 
many  Magdalens,  Marguerites,  sylphs,  and  mer- 
maids, and  who,  it  is  said,  was  beloved  of  the 
Emperor  Napoleon  III,  was  standing  at  the  foot 
of  the  ladder  with  tangled  locks,  cadaverous  cheeks, 
and  dim  eyes,  older  than  old  Guinardon,  whose  life 

33 


34      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

she  had  shared  for  more  than  half  a  century.  She 
had  brought  the  painter's  lunch  in  a  basket. 

Although  the  slanting  rays  fell  grey  and  cold 
through  the  leaded  and  iron-barred  window, 
Delacroix's  colouring  shone  resplendent,  and  the 
roses  on  the  cheeks  of  men  and  angels  dimmed 
with  their  glorious  beauty  the  rubicund  countenance 
of  old  Guinardon,  which  stood  out  in  relief  against 
one  of  the  temple's  columns.  These  frescoes  of  the 
Chapel  of  the  Holy  Angels,  though  derided  and 
insulted  when  they  first  appeared,  have  now  become 
part  of  the  classic  tradition,  and  are  united  in 
immortality  with  the  masterpieces  of  Rubens  and 
Tintoretto. 

Old  Guinardon,  bearded  and  long-haired,  looked 
like  Father  Time  effacing  the  works  of  man's 
genius.  Gaetan,  in  alarm,  called  out  to  him : 

"  Carefully,  Monsieur  Guinardon,  carefully.  Do 
not  scrape  too  much." 

The  painter  reassured  him. 

"  Fear  nothing,  Monsieur  Gaetan.  I  do  not 
paint  in  that  style.  My  art  is  a  higher  one.  I  work 
after  the  manner  of  Cimabue,  Giotto,  and  Beato 
Angelico,  not  in  the  style  of  Delacroix.  This 
surface  here  is  too  heavily  charged  with  contrast 
and  opposition  to  give  a  really  sacred  effect.  It  is 
true  that  Chenavard  said  that  Christianity  loves 
the  picturesque,  but  Chenavard  was  a  rascal  with 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      35 

neither  faith  nor  principle — an  infidel.  .  .  .  Look, 
Monsieur  d'Esparvieu,  I  fill  up  the  crevice,  I  relay 
the  scales  of  paint  which  are  peeling.  That  is  all. 
.  .  .  The  damage,  due  to  the  sinking  of  the  wall,  or 
more  probably  to  a  seismic  shock,  is  confined  to  a 
very  small  space.  This  painting  of  oil  and  wax 
applied  on  a  very  dry  foundation  is  far  more  solid 
than  one  might  think. 

"  I  saw  Delacroix  engaged  on  this  work.  Im- 
passioned but  anxious,  he  modelled  feverishly, 
scraped  out,  re-painted  unceasingly ;  his  mighty 
hand  made  childish  blunders,  but  the  thing  is  done 
with  the  mastery  of  a  genius  and  the  inexperience 
of  a  schoolboy.  It  is  a  marvel  how  it  holds." 

The  good  man  was  silent,  and  went  on  filling  in 
the  crevice. 

"  How  classic  and  traditional  the  composition  is," 
said  Gaetan.  "  Time  was  when  one  could  recognise 
nothing  but  its  amazing  novelty ;  now  one  can  see 
in  it  a  multitude  of  old  Italian  formulas." 

:<  I  may  allow  myself  the  luxury  of  being  just, 
I  possess  the  qualifications,"  said  the  old  man  from 
the  top  of  his  lofty  ladder.  "  Delacroix  lived  in  a 
blasphemous  and  godless  age.  A  painter  of  the 
decadence,  he  was  not  without  pride  nor  grandeur. 
He  was  greater  than  his  times.  But  he  lacked  faith, 
single-heartedness,  and  purity.  To  be  able  to  see 
and  paint  angels  he  needed  that  virtue  of  angels 


36 

and  primitives,  that  supreme  virtue  which,  with 
God's  help,  I  do  my  best  to  practise,  chastity." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  Michel ;  you  are  as  big  a 
brute  as  any  of  them." 

Thus  Zephyrine,  devoured  with  jealousy  because 
that  very  morning  on  the  stairs  she  had  seen  her 
lover  kiss  the  bread-woman's  daughter,  to  wit  the 
youthful  Octavie,  who  was  as  squalid  and  radiant 
as  one  of  Rembrandt's  Brides.  She  had  loved  Michel 
madly  in  the  happy  days  long  since  past,  and  love 
had  never  died  out  in  Zephyrine's  heart. 

Old  Guinardon  received  the  flattering  insult  with 
a  smile  that  he  dissembled,  and  raised  his  eyes  to  the 
ceiling,  where  the  archangel  Michael,  terrible  in 
azure  cuirass  and  gilt  helmet,  was  springing  heaven- 
wards in  all  the  radiance  of  his  glory. 

Meanwhile  Abbe  Patouille,  blinking,  and  shielding 
his  eyes  with  his  hat  against  the  glaring  light  from 
the  window,  began  to  examine  the  pictures  one 
after  another :  Heliodorus  being  scourged  by  the 
angels,  St.  Michael  vanquishing  the  Demons,  and 
the  combat  of  Jacob  and  the  Angel. 

"  All  this  is  exceedingly  fine,"  he  murmured  at 
last,  "  but  why  has  the  artist  only  represented 
wrathful  angels  on  these  walls  ?  Look  where  I 
will  in  this  chapel,  I  see  but  heralds  of  celestial 
anger,  ministers  of  divine  vengeance.  God  wishes 
to  be  feared  ;  He  wishes  also  to  be  loved.  I  would 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      37 

fain  perceive  on  these  walls  messengers  of  peace  and 
of  clemency.  I  should  like  to  see  the  Seraphim 
who  purified  the  lips  of  the  prophet,  St.  Raphael 
who  gave  back  his  sight  to  old  Tobias,  Gabriel  who 
announced  the  Mystery  of  the  Incarnation  to  Mary, 
the  Angel  who  delivered  St.  Peter  from  his  chains, 
the  Cherubim  who  bore  the  dead  St.  Catherine  to 
the  top  of  Sinai.  Above  all,  I  should  like  to  be  able 
to  contemplate  those  heavenly  guardians  which 
God  gives  to  every  man  baptized  in  His  name.  We 
each  have  one  who  follows  all  our  steps,  who  com- 
forts us  and  upholds  us.  It  would  be  pleasant 
indeed  to  admire  these  enchanting  spirits,  these 
beautiful  faces." 

"  Ah,  Abbe  !  it  depends  on  the  point  of  view," 
answered  Gaetan.  "  Delacroix  was  no  sentimen- 
talist. Old  Ingres  was  not  very  far  wrong  in 
saying  that  this  great  man's  work  reeks  of  fire  and 
brimstone.  Look  at  the  sombre,  splendid  beauty  of 
those  angels,  look  at  those  androgynes  so  proud  and 
fierce,  at  those  pitiless  youths  who  lift  avenging  rods 
against  Heliodorus,  note  this  mysterious  wrestler 
touching  the  patriarch  on  the  hip.  .  .  ." 

"  Hush,"  said  Abbe  Patouille.  "  According  to 
the  Bible  he  is  no  angel  like  the  others  ;  if  he 
be  an  angel,  he  is  the  Angel  of  Creation,  the 
Eternal  Son  of  God.  I  am  surprised  that  the 
Venerable  Cure  of  St.  Sulpice,  who  entrusted  the 


38      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

decoration  of  this  chapel  to  Monsieur  Eugene 
Delacroix,  did  not  tell  him  that  the  patriarch's 
syrfibolic  struggle  with  Him  who  was  nameless  took 
place  in  profound  darkness,  and  that  the  subject  is 
quite  out  of  place  here,  since  it  prefigures  the 
Incarnation  of  Jesus  Christ.  The  best  artists  go 
astray  when  they  fail  to  obtain  their  ideas  of 
Christian  iconography  from  a  qualified  ecclesiastic. 
The  institutions  of  Christian  art  form  the  subject 
of  numerous  works  with  which  you  are  doubtless 
acquainted,  Monsieur  Sariette." 

Monsieur  Sariette  was  gazing  vacantly  about 
him.  It  was  the  third  morning  after  his  adventurous 
night  in  the  library.  Being,  however,  thus  called 
upon  by  the  venerable  ecclesiastic,  he  pulled  him- 
self together  and  replied : 

"  On  this  subject  we  may  with  advantage  consult 
Molanus,  De  Historia  Sacrarum  Imaginum  et 
Picturarum,  in  the  edition  given  us  by  Noel  Paquot, 
dated  Louvain,  1771  ;  Cardinal  Federico  Bor- 
romeo,  De  Pictura  Sacra,  and  the  Iconography  of 
Didron  ;  but  this  last  work  must  be  read  with 
caution." 

Having  thus  spoken,  Monsieur  Sariette  relapsed 
into  silence.  He  was  pondering  on  his  devastated 
library. 

"  On  the  other  hand,"  continued  Abbe  Patouille, 
"  since  an  example  of  the  holy  anger  of  the  angels 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      39 

was  necessary  in  this  chapel,  the  painter  is  to  be 
commended  for  having  depicted  for  us  in  imitation 
of  Raphael  the  heavenly  messengers  who  chastised 
Heliodorus.  Ordered  by  Seleucus,  King  of  Syria, 
to  carry  off  the  treasures  contained  in  the  Temple, 
Heliodorus  was  stricken  by  an  angel  in  a  cuirass  of 
gold  mounted  on  a  magnificently  caparisoned 
steed.  Two  other  angels  smote  him  with  rods. 
He  fell  to  earth,  as  Monsieur  Delacroix  shows  us 
here,  and  was  swallowed  up  in  darkness.  It  is 
right  and  salutary  that  this  adventure  should  be 
cited  as  an  example  to  the  Republican  Commis- 
sioners of  Police  and  to  the  sacrilegious  agents  of 
the  law.  There  will  always  be  Heliodoruses,  but, 
let  it  be  known,  every  time  they  lay  their  hands  on 
the  property  of  the  Church,  which  is  the  property 
of  the  poor,  they  shall  be  chastised  with  rods  and 
blinded  by  the  angels. 

"  I  should  like  this  painting,  or,  better  still, 
Raphael's  sublimer  conception  of  the  same  subject, 
to  be  engraved  in  little  pictures  fully  coloured,  and 
distributed  as  rewards  in  all  the  schools." 

"  Uncle,"  said  young  Maurice,  with  a  yawn,  "  I 
think  these  things  are  simply  ghastly.  I  prefer 
Matisse  and  Metzinger." 

These  words  fell  unheeded,  and  old  Guinardon 
from  his  ladder  held  forth : 

"  Only    the    primitives    caught    a    glimpse    of 


4o      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

Heaven.  Beauty  is  only  to  be  found  between  the 
thirteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries.  The  antique, 
the  impure  antique,  which  regained  its  pernicious 
influence  over  the  minds  of  the  sixteenth  century, 
inspired  poets  and  painters  with  criminal  notions 
and  immodest  conceptions,  with  horrid  impurities, 
filth.  All  the  artists  of  the  Renaissance  were  swine, 
including  Michael  Angelo." 

Then,  perceiving  that  Gaetan  was  on  the  point 
of  departure,  Pere  Guinardon  assumed  an  air  of 
bonhomie,  and  said  to  him  in  a  confidential  tone : 

"  Monsieur  Gaetan,  if  you're  not  afraid  of 
climbing  up  my  five  flights,  come  and  have  a 
look  at  my  den.  I've  got  two  or  three  little 
canvases  I  wouldn't  mind  parting  with,  and 
they  might  interest  you.  All  good,  honest,  straight- 
forward stuff.  I'll  show  you,  among  other  things, 
a  tasty,  spicy  little  Baudouin  that  would  make 
your  mouth  water." 

At  this  speech  Gaetan  made  off.  As  he  descended 
the  church  steps  and  turned  down  the  Rue  Princesse, 
he  found  himself  accompanied  by  old  Sariette,  and 
fell  to  unburdening  himself  to  him,  as  he  would 
have  done  to  any  human  creature,  or  indeed  to  a 
tree,  a  lamp-post,  a  dog,  or  his  own  shadow,  of  the 
indignation  with  which  the  aesthetic  theories  of  the 
old  painter  inspired  him. 

"  Old  Guinardon  overdoes  it  with  his  Christian 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      41 

art    and    his    Primitives !      Whatever    the    artist 
conceives  of  Heaven  is  borrowed  from  earth  ;  God, 
the  Virgin,  the  Angels,  men  and  women,  saints,  the 
light,  the  clouds.     When  he  was  designing  figures 
for  the  chapel  windows  at  Dreux,  old  Ingres  drew 
from  life,  a  pure,  fine  study  of  a  woman,  which  may 
be  seen,  among  many  others,  in  the  Musee  Bonnat 
at  Bayonne.     Old  Ingres  has  written  at  the  bottom 
of    the  page  in   case  he  should   forget :    t  Made- 
moiselle Cecile,  admirable  legs  and  thighs  ' —  and  so 
as  to  make  Mademoiselle  Cecile  into  a   saint  in 
Paradise,  he  gave  her  a  robe,  a  cloak,  a  veil,  inflicting 
thus   a   shameful   decline   in   her   estate,   for   the 
tissues  of  Lyons  and  Genoa  are  worthless  compared 
with  the  youthful  living   tissue,   rosy  with  pure 
blood  ;   the  most  beautiful  draperies  are  despicable 
compared  with  the  lines  of  a  beautiful  body.     In 
fact,  clothing  for  flesh  that  is  desirable  and  ripe 
for  wedlock  is  an  unmerited  shame,  and  the  worst 
of  humiliations";    and  Gaetan,  walking  carelessly 
in  the  gutter  of  the  Rue  Garanciere,  continued : 
"  Old  Guinardon  is  a  pestilential  idiot.     He  blas- 
phemes Antiquity,  sacred  Antiquity,  the  age  when 
the  gods  were  kind.    He  exalts  an  epoch  when  the 
painter  and  the  sculptor  had  all  their  lessons  to 
learn  over  again.    In  point  of  fact,  Christianity  has  ' 
run  contrary  to  art  in  so  much  as  it  has  not  favoured 
the  study  of  the  nude.    Art  is  the  representation  of 


42      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

nature,  and  nature  is  pre-eminently  the  human 
body  ;  it  is  the  nude." 

"  Pardon,  pardon,"  purred  old  Sariette.  "  There 
is  such  a  thing  as  spiritual,  or,  as  one  might  term  it, 
inward  beauty,  which,  since  the  days  of  Fra  Angelico 
down  to  those  of  Hippolyte  Flandrin,  Christian  art 
has " 

But  Gaetan,  never  hearing  a  word  of  all  this, 
went  on  hurling  his  impetuous  observations  at  the 
stones  of  the  old  street  and  the  snow-laden  clouds 
overhead : 

"  The  Primitives  cannot  be  judged  as  a  whole, 
for  they  are  utterly  unlike  each  other.  This  old 
madman  confounds  them  all  together.  Cimabue 
is  a  corrupt  Byzantine ;  Giotto  gives  hints  of 
powerful  genius,  but  his  modelling  is  bad,  and, 
like  children,  he  gives  all  his  characters  the  same 
face.  The  early  Italians  have  grace  and  joy, 
because  they  are  Italians.  The  Venetians  have  an 
instinct  for  fine  colour.  But  when  all  is  said  and 
done  these  exquisite  craftsmen  enamel  and  gild 
rather  than  paint.  There  is  far  too  much  softness 
about  the  heart  and  the  colouring  of  your  saintly 
Angelico  for  me.  As  for  the  Flemish  school,  that's 
quite  another  pair  of  shoes.  They  can  use  their 
hands,  and  in  glory  of  workmanship  they  are  on  a 
level  with  the  Chinese  lacquer  workers.  The 
technique  of  the  brothers  Van  Eyck  is  a  marvel, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      43 

but  I  cannot  discover  in  their  Adoration  of  the 
Lamb  the  charm  and  mystery  that  some  have 
vaunted.  Everything  in  it  is  treated  with  a  pitiless 
perfection,  it  is  vulgar  in  feeling  and  cruelly  ugly. 
Memling  may  touch  one  perhaps;  but  he  creates 
nothing  but  sick  wretches  and  cripples ;  under  the 
heavy,  rich,  and  ungraceful  robing  of  his  virgins 
and  saints  one  divines  some  very  lamentable 
anatomy.  I  did  not  wait  for  Roger  van  der 
Weyden  to  call  himself  Roger  de  la  Pasture  and 
turn  Frenchman  in  order  to  prefer  him  to  Memling. 
This  Rogier  or  Roger  is  less  of  a  ninny  ;  but  then 
he  is  more  lugubrious,  and  the  rigidity  of  his  lines 
bears  eloquent  testimony  to  his  poverty-stricken 
figures.  It  is  a  strange  perversion  to  take  pleasure  in 
these  carnivalesque  figures  when  one  can  have  the 
paintings  of  Leonardo,  Titian,  Correggio,  Velasquez, 
Rubens,  Rembrandt,  Poussin,  or  Prud'hon.  Really 
it  is  a  perverted  instinct." 

Meanwhile  the  Abbe  Patouille  and  Maurice 
d'Esparvieu  were  strolling  leisurely  along  in  the 
wake  of  the  aesthete  and  the  librarian.  As  a  general 
rule  the  Abbe  Patouille  was  little  inclined  to  talk 
theology  with  laymen,  or,  for  that  matter,  with 
clerics  either.  Carried  away,  however,  by  the 
attractiveness  of  the  subject,  he  was  telling  the 
youthful  Maurice  all  about  the  sacred  mission 
of  those  guardian  angels  which  Monsieur  Delacroix 


44      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

had  so  inopportunely  excluded  from  his  pictures. 
And  in  order  to  give  more  adequate  expression  to 
his  thoughts  on  such  lofty  themes,  the  Abbe 
Patouille  borrowed  whole  phrases  and  sentences 
from  Bossuet.  He  had  got  them  up  by  heart  to 
put  in  his  sermons,  for  he  adhered  strongly  to 
tradition. 

"  Yes,  my  son,"  he  was  saying,  "  God  has  ap- 
pointed tutelary  spirits  to  be  near  us.  They  come 
to  us  laden  with  His  gifts.  They  return  laden 
with  our  prayers.  Such  is  their  task.  Not  an  hour, 
not  a  moment  passes  but  they  are  at  our  side, 
ready  to  help  us,  ever  fervent  and  unwearying 
guardians,  watchmen  that  never  slumber." 

"  Quite  so,  Abbe,"  murmured  Maurice,  who  was 
wondering  by  what  cunning  artifice  he  could  get 
on  the  soft  side  of  his  mother  and  persuade  her  to 
give  him  some  money  of  which  he  was  urgently  in 
need. 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHEREIN    PERE  SARIETTE   DISCOVERS    HIS    MISSING 
TREASURES 

EXT  morning  Monsieur  Sariette 
entered  Monsieur  Rene  d'Esparvieu's 
study  without  knocking.  He  raised 
his  arms  to  the  heavens,  his  few 
hairs  were  standing  straight  up  on 
his  head.  His  eyes  were  big  with  terror.  In  husky 
tones  he  stammered  out  the  dreadful  news.  A  very 
old  manuscript  of  Flavius  Josephus ;  sixty  volumes  of 
all  sizes ;  a  priceless  jewel,  namely,  a  Lucretius  adorned 
with  the  arms  of  Philippe  de  Vendome,  Grand 
Prior  of  France,  with  notes  in  Voltaire's  own  hand ; 
a  manuscript  of  Richard  Simon,  and  a  set  of 
Gassendi's  correspondence  with  Gabriel  Naude, 
comprising  two  hundred  and  thirty-eight  un- 
published letters,  had  disappeared.  This  time  the 
owner  of  the  library  was  alarmed. 

He  mounted  in  haste  to  the  abode  of  the  philo- 
sophers and  the  globes,  and  there  with  his  own  eyes 
confirmed  the  magnitude  of  the  disaster. 

There  were  yawning  gaps  on  many  a  shelf.    He 

45 


46      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

searched  here  and  there,  opened  cupboards,  dragged 
out  brooms,  dusters,  and  fire-extinguishers,  rattled 
the  shovel  in  the  coke  fire,  shook  out  Monsieur 
Sariette's  best  frock-coat  that  was  hanging  in  the 
cloak-room,  and  then  stood  and  gazed  disconsolately 
at  the  empty  places  left  by  the  Gassendi  port- 
folios. 

For  the  past  half-century  the  whole  learned 
world  had  been  loudly  clamouring  for  the  publica- 
tion of  this  correspondence.  Monsieur  Rene 
d'Esparvieu  had  not  responded  to  the  universal 
desire,  unwilling  either  to  assume  so  heavy  a  task, 
or  to  resign  it  to  others.  Having  found  much 
boldness  of  thought  in  these  letters,  and  many 
passages  of  more  libertine  tendency  than  the  piety 
of  the  twentieth  century  could  endure,  he  preferred 
that  they  should  remain  unpublished ;  but  he  felt 
himself  responsible  for  their  safe-keeping,  not  only 
to  his  country  but  to  the  whole  civilized  world. 

"  How  can  you  have  allowed  yourself  to  be 
robbed  of  such  a  treasure  ?  "  he  asked  severely  of 
Monsieur  Sariette. 

"  How  can  I  have  allowed  myself  to  be  robbed  of 
such  a  treasure  ?  "  repeated  the  unhappy  librarian. 
"  Monsieur,  if  you  opened  my  breast,  you  would 
find  that  question  engraved  upon  my  heart." 

Unmoved  by  this  powerful  utterance,  Monsieur 
d'Esparvieu  continued  with  pent-up  fury : 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      47 

"  And  you  have  discovered  no  single  sign  that 
would  put  you  on  the  track  of  the  thief,  Monsieur 
Sariette  ?  You  have  no  suspicion,  not  the  faintest 
idea,  of  the  way  these  things  have  come  to  pass  ? 
You  have  seen  nothing,  heard  nothing,  noticed 
nothing,  learnt  nothing  ?  You  must  grant  this  is 
unbelievable.  Think,  Monsieur  Sariette,  think  of 
the  possible  consequences  of  this  unheard-of  theft, 
committed  under  your  eyes.  A  document  of  in- 
estimable value  in  the  history  of  the  human  mind 
disappears.  Who  has  stolen  it  ?  Why  has  it  been 
stolen  ?  Who  will  gain  by  it  ?  Those  who  have 
got  possession  of  it  doubtless  know  that  they  will 
be  unable  to  dispose  of  it  in  France.  They  will  go 
and  sell  it  in  America  or  Germany.  Germany  is 
greedy  for  such  literary  monuments.  Should  the 
correspondence  of  Gassendi  with  Gabriel  Naude 
go  over  to  Berlin,  if  it  is  published  there  by  German 
savants,  what  a  disaster,  nay,  what  a  scandal  ! 
Monsieur  Sariette,  have  you  not  thought  of 
that  ?  "  .  .  . 

Beneath  the  stroke  of  an  accusation  all  the  more 
cruel  in  that  he  brought  it  against  himself,  Mon- 
sieur Sariette  stood  stupefied,  and  was  silent.  And 
Monsieur  d'Esparvieu  continued  to  overwhelm  him 
with  bitter  reproaches. 

"  And  you  make  no  effort.  You  devise  nothing 
to  find  these  inestimable  treasures.  Make  enquiries, 


48      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

bestir  yourself,  Monsieur  Sariette  ;    use  your  wits. 
It  is  well  worth  while." 

And  Monsieur  d'Esparvieu  went  out,  throwing 
an  icy  glance  at  his  librarian. 

Monsieur  Sariette  sought  the  lost  books  and 
manuscripts  in  every  spot  where  he  had  already 
sought  them  a  hundred  times,  and  where  they 
could  not  possibly  be.  He  even  looked  in  the  coke- 
box  and  under  the  leather  seat  of  his  arm-chair. 
When  midday  struck  he  mechanically  went  down- 
stairs. At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  he  met  his  old 
pupil  Maurice,  with  whom  he  exchanged  a  bow. 
But  he  only  saw  men  and  things  as  through  a  mist. 

The  broken-hearted  curator  had  already  reached 
the  hall  when  Maurice  called  him  back. 

"  Monsieur  Sariette,  while  I  think  of  it,  do  have 
the  books  removed  that  are  choking  up  my  garden- 
house." 

"  What  books,  Maurice  ?  " 

"  I  could  not  tell  you,  Monsieur  Sariette,  but 
there  are  some  in  Hebrew,  all  worm-eaten,  with  a 
whole  heap  of  old  papers.  They  are  in  my  way. 
You  can't  turn  round  in  the  passage." 

"  Who  took  them  there  ?  " 

"  I'm  bothered  if  I  know." 

And  the  young  man  rushed  off  to  the  dining- 
room,  the  luncheon  gong  having  sounded  quite  a 
minute  ago. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      49 

Monsieur  Sariette  tore  away  to  the  summer- 
house.  Maurice  had  spoken  the  truth.  About  a 
hundred  volumes  were  there,  on  tables,  on  chairs, 
even  on  the  floor.  When  he  saw  them  he  was 
divided  betwixt  joy  and  fear,  filled  with  amazement 
and  anxiety.  Happy  in  the  finding  of  his  lost 
treasure,  dreading  to  lose  it  again,  and  completely 
overwhelmed  with  astonishment,  the  man  of  books 
alternately  babbled  like  an  infant  and  uttered  the 
hoarse  cries  of  a  maniac.  He  recognised  his  Hebrew 
Bibles,  his  ancient  Talmuds,  his  very  old  manuscript 
of  Flavius  Josephus,  his  portfolios  of  Gassendi's 
letters  to  Gabriel  Naude,  and  his  richest  jewel  of  all, 
to  wit,  Lucretius  adorned  with  the  arms  of  the 
Grand  Prior  of  France,  and  with  notes  in  Voltaire's 
own  hand.  He  laughed,  he  cried,  he  kissed  the 
morocco,  the  calf,  the  parchment,  and  vellum,  even 
the  wooden  boards  studded  with  nails. 

As  fast  as  Hippolyte,  the  manservant,  returned 
with  an  armful  to  the  library,  Monsieur  Sariette, 
with  a  trembling  hand,  restored  them  piously  to 
their  places. 


CHAPTER  VII 

OF  A  SOMEWHAT  LIVELY  INTEREST,  WHEREOF  THE 
MORAL  WILL,  I  HOPE,  APPEAL  GREATLY  TO  MY 
READERS,  SINCE  IT  CAN  BE  EXPRESSED  BY  THIS 
SORROWFUL  QUERY  :  "  THOUGHT,  WHITHER  DOST 
THOU  LEAD  ME?"  FOR  IT  IS  A  UNIVERSALLY 
ADMITTED  TRUTH  THAT  IT  IS  UNHEALTHY  TO 
THINK  AND  THAT  TRUE  WISDOM  LIES  IN  NOT 
THINKING  AT  ALL 

,LL  the  books  were  now  once  more 
assembled  in  the  pious  keeping  of 
Monsieur  Sariette.  But  this  happy 
reunion  was  not  destined  to  last. 
The  following  night  twenty  volumes 
left  their  places,  among  them  the  Lucretius  of 
Philippe  de  Vendome.  Within  a  week  the  old 
Hebrew  and  Greek  texts  had  all  returned  to  the 
summer-house,  and  every  night  during  the  ensuing 
month  they  left  their  shelves  and  secretly  went 
on  the  same  path.  Others  betook  themselves  no 
one  knew  whither. 

On  hearing  of  these  mysterious  occurrences, 
Monsieur  Rene  d'Esparvieu  merely  remarked  with 
frigidity  to  his  librarian : 

50 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      51 

"  My  poor  Sariette,  all  this  is  very  queer,  very 
queer  indeed." 

And  when  Monsieur  Sariette  tentatively  advised 
him  to  lodge  a  formal  complaint  or  to  inform 
the  Commissaire  de  Police,  Monsieur  d'Esparvieu 
cried  out  upon  him : 

"  What  are  you  suggesting,  Monsieur  Sariette  ? 
Divulge  domestic  secrets,  make  a  scandal !  You 
cannot  mean  it.  I  have  enemies,  and  I  am  proud  of 
it.  I  think  I  have  deserved  them.  What  I  might 
complain  about  is  that  I  am  wounded  in  the  house 
of  my  friend,  attacked  with  unheard-of  violence, 
by  fervent  loyalists,  who,  I  grant  you,  are  good 
Catholics,  but  exceedingly  bad  Christians.  ...  In 
a  word,  I  am  watched,  spied  upon,  shadowed,  and 
you  suggest,  Monsieur  Sariette,  that  I  should 
make  a  present  of  this  comic-opera  mystery,  this 
burlesque  adventure,  this  story  in  which  we  both 
cut  somewhat  pitiable  figures,  to  a  set  of  spiteful 
journalists  ?  Do  you  wish  to  cover  me  with 
ridicule  ?  " 

The  result  of  the  colloquy  was  that  the  two 
gentlemen  agreed  to  change  all  the  locks  in  the 
library.  Estimates  were  asked  for  and  workmen 
called  in.  For  six  weeks  the  d'Esparvieu  household 
rang  from  morning  till  night  with  the  sound  of 
hammers,  the  hum  of  centre-bits,  and  the  grating 
of  files.  Fires  were  always  going  in  the  abode  of 


52      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

the  philosophers  and  globes,  and  the  people  of  the 
house  were  simply  sickened  by  the  smell  of  heated 
oil.  The  old,  smooth,  easy-running  locks  were 
replaced,  on  the  cupboards  and  doors  of  the  rooms, 
by  stubborn  and  tricky  fastenings.  There  was 
nothing  but  combinations  of  locks,  letter-padlocks, 
safety-bolts,  bars,  chains  and  electric  alarm-bells. 

All  this  display  of  ironmongery  inspired  fear. 
The  lock-cases  glistened,  and  there  was  much 
grinding  of  bolts.  To  gain  access  to  a  room,  a 
cupboard  or  a  drawer,  it  was  necessary  to  know  a 
certain  number,  of  which  Monsieur  Sariette  alone 
was  cognisant.  His  head  was  filled  with  bizarre 
words  and  tremendous  numbers,  and  he  got  en- 
tangled among  all  these  cryptic  signs,  these  square, 
cubic  and  triangular  figures.  He  himself  couldn't 
get  the  doors  and  the  cupboards  undone,  yet  every 
morning  he  found  them  wide  open,  and  the  books 
thrown  about,  ransacked  and  hidden  away.  In  the 
gutter  of  the  Rue  Servandoni  a  policeman  picked 
up  a  volume  of  Salomon  Reinach  on  the  identity 
of  Barabbas  and  Jesus  Christ.  As  it  bore  the  book- 
plate of  the  d'Esparvieu  library  he  returned  it  to 
the  owner. 

Monsieur  Rene  d'Esparvieu,  not  even  deigning 
to  inform  Monsieur  Sariette  of  the  fact,  made  up 
his  mind  to  consult  a  magistrate,  a  friend  in  whom 
he  had  complete  confidence,  to  wit,  a  certain  Mon- 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      53 

sieur  des  Aubels,  Counsel  at  the  Law  Courts,  who 
had  put  through  many  an  important  affair.  He  was 
a  little  plump  man,  very  red,  very  bald,  with  a 
cranium  that  shone  like  a  billiard  ball.  He  entered 
the  library  one  morning  feigning  to  come  as  a  book- 
lover,  but  he  soon  showed  that  he  knew  nothing 
about  books.  While  all  the  busts  of  the  ancient 
philosophers  were  reflected  in  his  shining  pate,  he 
put  divers  insidious  questions  to  Monsieur  Sariette, 
who  grew  uncomfortable  and  turned  red,  for 
innocence  is  easily  flustered.  From  that  moment 
Monsieur  des  Aubels  had  a  mighty  suspicion  that 
Monsieur  Sariette  was  the  perpetrator  of  the  very 
thefts  he  denounced  with  horror ;  and  it 
immediately  occurred  to  him  to  seek  out  the 
accomplices  of  the  crime.  As  regards  motives,  he 
did  not  trouble  about  them,  motives  are  always  to 
be  found.  Monsieur  des  Aubels  told  Monsieur 
Rene  d'Esparvieu  that,  if  he  liked,  he  would  have 
the  house  secretly  watched  by  a  detective  from  the 
Prefecture. 

"  I  will  see  that  you  get  Mignon,"  he  said.  "  He 
is  an  excellent  servant,  assiduous  and  prudent." 

By  six  o'clock  next  morning  Mignon  was  already 
walking  up  and  down  outside  the  d'Esparvieus' 
house,  his  head  sunk  between  his  shoulders,  wearing 
love-locks  which  showed  from  under  the  narrow 
brim  of  his  bowler  hat,  his  eye  cocked  over  his 


54     THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

shoulder.  He  wore  an  enormous  dull-black 
moustache,  his  hands  and  feet  were  huge  ;  in  fact, 
his  whole  appearance  was  distinctly  memorable. 
He  paced  regularly  up  and  down  from  the  nearest 
of  the  big  rams'-head  pillars  which  adorn  the  Hotel 
de  la  Sordiere  to  the  end  of  the  Rue  Garanciere, 
towards  the  apse  of  St.  Sulpice  Church  and  the 
dome  of  the  Chapel  of  the  Virgin. 

Henceforth  it  became  impossible  to  enter  or 
leave  the  d'Esparvieus'  house  without  feeling  that 
one's  every  action,  that  one's  very  thoughts,  were 
being  spied  upon.  Mignon  was  a  prodigious 
person  endowed  with  powers  that  Nature  denies 
to  other  mortals.  He  neither  ate  nor  slept.  At  all 
hours  of  the  day  and  night,  in  wind  and  rain,  he 
was  to  be  found  outside  the  house,  and  no  one 
escaped  the  X-rays  of  his  eye.  One  felt  pierced 
through  and  through,  penetrated  to  the  very 
marrow,  worse  than  naked,  bare  as  a  skeleton.  It 
was  the  affair  of  a  moment ;  the  detective  did  not 
even  stop,  but  continued  his  everlasting  walk.  It 
became  intolerable.  Young  Maurice  threatened 
to  leave  the  paternal  roof  if  he  was  to  be  so  radio- 
graphed. His  mother  and  his  sister  Berthe  com- 
plained of  his  piercing  look  ;  it  offended  the  chaste 
modesty  of  their  souls.  Mademoiselle  Caporal, 
young  Leon  d'Esparvieu's  governess,  felt  an  in- 
describable embarrassment.  Monsieur  Rene  d'Es- 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      55 

parvieu  was  sick  of  the  whole  business.  He 
never  crossed  his  own  threshold  without  crushing 
his  hat  over  his  eyes  to  avoid  the  investigating  ray 
and  without  wishing  old  Sariette,  ihefons  et  origo 
of  all  the  evil,  at  the  devil.  The  intimates  of  the 
household,  such  as  Abbe  Patouille  and  Uncle 
Gaetan,  made  themselves  scarce  ;  visitors  gave  up 
calling,  tradespeople  hesitated  about  leaving  their 
goods,  the  carts  belonging  to  the  big  shops  scarcely 
dared  stop.  But  it  was  among  the  domestics  that 
the  spying  roused  the  most  disorder. 

The  footman,  afraid,  under  the  eye  of  the  police, 
to  go  and  join  the  cobbler's  wife  over  her  solitary 
labours  in  the  afternoon,  found  the  house  unbear- 
able and  gave  notice.  Odile,  Madame  d'Esparvieu's 
lady's-maid,  not  daring,  as  was  her  custom  after  her 
mistress  had  retired,  to  introduce  Octave,  the 
handsomest  of  the  neighbouring  bookseller's  clerks, 
to  her  little  room  upstairs,  grew  melancholy, 
irritable  and  nervous,  pulled  her  mistress's  hair 
while  dressing  it,  spoke  insolently,  and  made 
advances  to  Monsieur  Maurice.  The  cook,  Madame 
Malgoire,  a  serious  matron  of  some  fifty  years, 
having  no  more  visits  from  Auguste,  the  wine- 
merchant's  man  in  the  Rue  Servandoni,  and  being 
incapable  of  suffering  a  privation  so  contrary  to  her 
temperament,  went  mad,  sent  up  a  raw  rabbit  to 
table,  and  announced  that  the  Pope  had  asked  her 


56      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

hand  in  marriage.  At  last,  after  a  fortnight  of 
superhuman  assiduity,  contrary  to  all  known  laws 
of  organic  life,  and  to  the  essential  conditions  of 
animal  economy,  Mignon,  the  .  detective,  having 
observed  nothing  abnormal,  ceased  his  surveillance 
and  withdrew  without  a  word,  refusing  to  accept  a 
gratuity.  In  the  library  the  dance  of  the  books 
became  livelier  than  ever. 

"  That  is  all  right,"  said  Monsieur  des  Aubels. 
"  Since  nothing  comes  in  nor  goes  out,  the  evil- 
doer must  be  in  the  house." 

The  magistrate  thought  it  possible  to  discov 
the  criminal  without  police-warrant  or  enquiry.  On 
a  date  agreed  upon,  at  midnight,  he  had  the  floor 
of  the  library,  the  treads  of  the  stairs,  the  vestibule, 
the  garden  path  leading  to  Monsieur  Maurice's 
summer-house,  and  the  entrance  hall  of  the  latter, 
all  covered  with  a  coating  of  talc. 

The  following  morning  Monsieur  des  Aubels, 
assisted  by  a  photographer  from  the  Prefecture, 
and  accompanied  by  Monsieur  Rene  d'Esparvieu 
and  Monsieur  Sariette,  came  to  take  the  imprints. 
They  found  nothing  in  the  garden,  the  wind  had 
blown  away  the  coating  of  talc  ;  nothing  in  the 
summer-house  either.  Young  Maurice  told  them 
he  thought  it  was  some  practical  joke  and  that  he 
had  brushed  away  the  white  dust  with  the  hearth- 
brush.  The  real  truth  was,  he  had  effaced  the  traces 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      57 

left  by  the  boots  of  Odile,  the  lady's-maid.  On  the 
stairs  and  in  the  library  the  very  light  print  of  a 
bare  foot  could  be  discerned,  it  seemed  to  have 
sprung  into  the  air  and  to  have  touched  the  ground 
at  rare  intervals  and  without  any  pressure.  They 
discovered  five  of  these  traces.  The  clearest  was 
to  be  found  in  the  abode  of  the  busts  and  spheres, 
on  the  edge  of  the  table  where  the  books  were 
piled.  The  photographer  took  several  negatives  of 
this  imprint. 

"  This  is  more  terrifying  than  anything  else," 
murmured  Monsieur  Sariette. 

Monsieur  des  Aubels  did  not  hide  his  sur- 
prise. 

Three  days  later  the  anthropometrical  depart- 
ment of  the  Prefecture  returned  the  proofs  ex- 
hibited to  them,  saying  that  they  were  not  in  the 
records. 

After  dinner  Monsieur  Rene  showed  the  photo- 
graphs to  his  brother  Gaetan,  who  examined  them 
with  profound  attention,  and  after  a  long  silence 
exclaimed : 

"  No  wonder  they  have  not  got  this  at  the 
Prefecture  ;  it  is  the  foot  of  a  god  or  of  an  athlete 
of  antiquity.  The  sole  that  made  this  impression 
is  of  a  perfection  unknown  to  our  races  and  our 
climates.  It  exhibits  toes  of  exquisite  grace,  and 
a  divine  heel." 


58      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

Rene  d'Esparvieu  cried  out  upon  his  brother  for 
a  madman. 

"  He  is  a  poet,"  sighed  Madame  d'Esparvieu. 

"  Uncle,"  said  Maurice,  "  you'll  fall  in  love  with 
this  foot  if  you  ever  come  across  it." 

"  Such  was  the  fate  of  Vivant  Denon,  who 
accompanied  Bonaparte  to  Egypt,"  replied  Gaetan. 
"At  Thebes  in  a  tomb  violated  by  the  Arabs,  Denon 
found  the  little  foot  of  a  mummy  of  marvellous 
beauty.  He  contemplated  it  with  extraordinary 
fervour.  '  It  is  the  foot  of  a  young  woman,'  he 
pondered,  *  of  a  princess — of  a  charming  creature. 
No  covering  has  ever  marred  its  perfect  shape.' 
Denon  admired,  adored,  and  loved  it.  You  may 
see  a  drawing  of  this  little  foot  in  Denon's  atlas  of 
his  journey  to  Egypt,  whose  leaves  one  could  turn 
over  upstairs,  without  going  further  afield,  if  only 
Monsieur  Sariette  would  ever  let  us  see  a  single 
volume  of  his  library." 

Sometimes,  in  bed,  Maurice,  waking  in  the  middle 
of  the  night,  thought  he  heard  the  sound  of  pages 
being  turned  over  in  the  next  room,  and  the  thud 
of  bound  volumes  falling  on  the  floor. 

One  morning  at  five  o'clock  he  was  coming  home 
from  the  club,  after  a  night  of  bad  luck,  and  while 
he  stood  outside  the  door  of  the  summer-house, 
hunting  in  his  pocket  for  his  keys,  his  ears  distinctly 
heard  a  voice  sighing : 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      59 

''  Knowledge,  whither  dost  thou  lead  me  ? 
Thought,  whither  dost  thou  lure  me  ?  " 

But  entering  the  two  rooms  he  saw  nothing, 
and  told  himself  that  his  ears  must  have  deceived 
him. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHICH  SPEAKS  OF  LOVE,  A  SUBJECT  WHICH  ALWAYS 
GIVES  PLEASURE,  FOR  A  TALE  WITHOUT  LOVE  IS 
LIKE  BEEF  WITHOUT  MUSTARD  :  AN  INSIPID 
DISH 

OTHING  ever  astonished  Maurice. 
He  never  sought  to  know  the  causes 
of  things  and  dwelt  tranquilly  in 
the  world  of  appearances.  Not 
denying  the  eternal  truth,  he  never- 
theless followed  vain  things  as  his  fancy  led  him. 

Less  addicted  to  sport  and  violent  exercise  than 
most  young  people  of  his  generation,  he  followed 
unconsciously  the  old  erotic  traditions  of  his  race. 
The  French  were  ever  the  most  gallant  of  men, 
and  it  were  a  pity  they  should  lose  this  advantage. 
Maurice  preserved  it.  He  was  in  love  with  no 
woman,  but,  as  St.  Augustine  said,  he  loved  to  love. 
After  paying  the  tribute  that  was  rightly  due  to  the 
imperishable  beauty  and  secret  arts  of  Madame 
de  la  Bertheliere,  he  had  enjoyed  the  impetuous 
caresses  of  a  young  singer  called  Luciole.  At 
present  he  was  joylessly  experiencing  the  primitive 

60 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      61 

perversity  of  Odile,  his  mother's  lady's-maid,  and 
the  tearful  adoration  of  the  beautiful  Madame 
Boittier.  And  he  felt  a  great  void  in  his  heart. 

It  chanced  that  one  Wednesday,  on  entering  the 
drawing-room  where  his  mother  entertained  her 
friends — who  were,  generally  speaking,  unattractive 
and  austere  ladies,  with  a  sprinkling  of  old  men  and 
very  young  people — he  noticed,  in  this  intimate 
circle,  Madame  des  Aubels,  the  wife  of  the  magis- 
trate at  the  Law  Courts,  whom  Monsieur  d'Espar- 
vieu  had  vainly  consulted  on  the  mysterious  ransack- 
ing of  his  library.  She  was  young,  he  found  her 
pretty,  and  not  without  cause.  Gilberte  had  been 
modelled  by  the  Genius  of  the  Race,  and  no  other 
genius  had  had  a  part  in  the  work. 

Thus  all  her  attributes  inspired  desire,  and 
nothing  in  her  shape  or  her  being  aroused  any 
other  sentiment. 

The  law  of  attraction  which  draws  world  to 
world  moved  young  Maurice  to  approach  this 
delicious  creature,  and  under  its  influence  he 
offered  to  escort  her  to  the  tea-table.  And  when 
Gilberte  was  served  with  tea,  he  said : 

"  We  should  hit  it  off  quite  well  together,  you 
and  I,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

He  spoke  in  this  way,  according  to  modern  usage, 
so  as  to  avoid  inane  compliments  and  to  spare  a 
woman  the  boredom  of  listening  to  one  of  those 


62      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

old  declarations  of  love  which,  containing  nothing 
but  what  is  vague  and  undefined,  require  neither 
a  truthful  nor  an  exact  reply. 

And  profiting  by  the  fact  that  he  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  conversing  secretly  with  Madame  des 
Aubels  for  a  few  minutes,  he  spoke  urgently  and 
to  the  point.  Gilberte,  so  far  as  one  could  judge, 
was  made  rather  to  awaken  desire  than  to  feel  it. 
Nevertheless,  she  well  knew  that  her  fate  was  to 
love,  and  she  followed  it  willingly  and  with  pleasure. 
Maurice  did  not  particularly  displease  her.  She 
would  have  preferred  him  to  be  an  orphan,  for 
experience  had  taught  her  how  disappointing  it 
sometimes  is  to  love  the  son  of  the  house. 

"  Will  you  ?  "  he  said  by  way  of  conclusion. 

She  pretended  not  to  understand,  and  with  her 
little  foie-gras  sandwich  raised  half-way  to  her 
mouth  she  looked  at  Maurice  with  wondering  eyes. 

"Will  I  what?"  she  asked. 

"  You  know  quite  well." 

Madame  des  Aubels  lowered  her  eyes,  and  sipped 
her  tea,  for  her  prudishnesswas  not  quite  vanquished. 
Meanwhile  Maurice,  taking  her  empty  cup  from 
her  hand,  murmured : 

"  Saturday,  five  o'clock,  126  Rue  de  Rome,  on 
the  ground-floor,  the  door  on  the  right,  under  the 
arch.  Knock  three  times." 

Madame  des  Aubels  glanced  severely  and  im- 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      63 

perturbably  at  the  son  of  the  house,  and  with  a  self- 
possessed  air  rejoined  the  circle  of  highly  respectable 
women  to  whom  the  Senator  Monsieur  Le  Fol  was 
explaining  how  artificial  incubators  were  employed 
at  the  agricultural  colony  at  St.  Julienne. 

The  following  Saturday,  Maurice,  in  his  ground- 
floor  flat,  awaited  Madame  des  Aubels.  He  awaited 
her  in  vain.  No  light  hand  came  to  knock  three 
times  on  the  door  under  the  arch.  And  Maurice 
gave  way  to  imprecation,  inwardly  calling  the 
absent  one  a  jade  and  a  hussy.  His  fruitless  wait, 
his  frustrated  desires,  rendered  him  unjust.  For 
Madame  des  Aubels  in  not  coming  where  she  had 
never  promised  to  go  hardly  deserved  these  names ; 
but  we  judge  human  actions  by  the  pleasure  or 
pain  they  cause  us. 

Maurice  did  not  put  in  an  appearance  in  his 
mother's  drawing-room  until  a  fortnight  after  the 
conversation  at  the  tea-table.  He  came  late. 
Madame  des  Aubels  had  been  there  for  half  an 
hour.  He  bowed  coldly  to  her,  took  a  seat  some 
way  off,  and  affected  to  be  listening  to  the  talk. 

'  Worthily  matched,"  a  rich  male  voice  was 
saying ;  "  the  two  antagonists  were  well  calculated 
to  render  the  struggle  a  terrible  and  uncertain  one. 
General  Bol,  with  unprecedented  tenacity,  main- 
tained his  position  as  though  he  were  rooted  in  the 
very  soil.  General  Milpertuis,  with  an  agility  truly 


64      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

superhuman,  kept  carrying  out  movements  of  the 
most  dazzling  rapidity  around  his  immovable 
adversary.  The  battle  continued  to  be  waged  with 
terrible  stubbornness.  We  were  all  in  an  agony  of 
suspense.  .  .  ." 

It  was  General  d'Esparvieu  describing  the 
autumn  manoeuvres  to  a  company  of  breathlessly 
interested  ladies.  He  was  talking  well  and  his 
audience  were  delighted.  Proceeding  to  draw  a 
comparison  between  the  French  and  German 
methods,  he  defined  their  distinguishing  charac- 
teristics and  brought  out  the  conspicuous  merits  of 
both  with  a  lofty  impartiality.  He  did  not  hesitate 
to  affirm  that  each  system  had  its  advantages,  and 
at  first  made  it  appear  to  his  circle  of  wondering, 
disappointed  and  anxious  dames,  whose  coun- 
tenances were  growing  increasingly  gloomy,  that 
France  and  Germany  were  practically  in  a  position 
of  equality.  But  little  by  little,  as  the  strategist 
went  on  to  give  a  clearer  definition  of  the  two 
methods,  that  of  the  French  began  to  appear 
flexible,  elegant,  vigorous,  full  of  grace,  cleverness 
and  verve ;  that  of  the  Germans  heavy,  clumsy 
and  undecided.  And  slowly  and  surely  the  faces 
of  the  ladies  began  to  clear  and  to  light  up  with 
joyous  smiles.  In  order  to  dissipate  any  lingering 
shadows  of  misgiving  from  the  minds  of  these 
wives,  sisters  and  sweethearts,  the  General  gave 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      65 

them  to  understand  that  we  were  in  a  position  to 
make  use  of  the  German  method  when  it  suited  us, 
but  that  the  Germans  could  not  avail  themselves  of 
the  French  method.  No  sooner  had  he  delivered  him- 
self of  these  sentiments  than  he  was  button-holed  by- 
Monsieur  le  True  de  Ruffec,  who  was  engaged  in 
founding  a  patriotic  society  known  as  "  Swordsmen 
All,"  of  which  the  object  was  to  regenerate  France 
and  ensure  her  superiority  over  all  her  adversaries. 
Even  children  in  the  cradle  were  to  be  enrolled, 
and  Monsieur  le  True  de  Ruffec  offered  the 
honorary  presidency  to  General  d'Esparvieu. 

Meanwhile  Maurice  was  appearing  to  be  interested 
in  a  conversation  that  was  taking  place  between 
a  very  gentle  old  lady  and  the  Abbe  Lapetite, 
Chaplain  to  the  Dames  du  Saint  Sang.  The  old 
lady,  severely  tried  of  late  by  illness  and  the  loss 
of  friends,  wanted  to  know  how  it  was  that  people 
were  unhappy  in  this  world. 

"  How,"  she  asked  Abbe  Lapetite,  "  do  you 
explain  the  scourges  that  afflict  mankind  ?  Why 
are  there  plagues,  famines,  floods  and  earthquakes?" 

;<  It  is  surely  necessary  that  God  should  sometimes 
remind  us  of  his  existence,"  replied  Abbe  Lapetite, 
with  a  heavenly  smile. 

Maurice  appeared  keenly  interested  in  this 
conversation.  Then  he  seemed  fascinated  by 
Madame  Fillot-Grandin,  quite  a  personable  young 


66      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

woman,  whose  simple  innocence,  however,  de- 
tracted all  piquancy  from  her  beauty,  all  savour 
from  her  bodily  charms.  A  very  sour,  shrill-voiced 
old  lady,  who,  affecting  the  dowdy,  woollen  weeds 
of  poverty,  displayed  the  pride  of  a  great  lady  in 
the  world  of  Christian  finance,  exclaimed  in  a 
squeaky  voice : 

"  Well,  my  dear  Madame  d'Esparvieu,  so  you 
have  had  trouble  here.  The  papers  speak  darkly  of 
robbery,  of  thefts  committed  in  Monsieur  d'Espar- 
vieu's  valuable  library,  of  stolen  letters  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,"  said  Madame  d'Esparvieu,  "  if  we  are  to 
believe  all  the  newspapers  say  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  so,  dear  Madame,  you  have  got  your 
treasures  back.  All's  well  that  ends  well." 

"  The  library  is  in  perfect  order,"  asserted 
Madame  d'Esparvieu.  "  There  is  nothing  missing." 

"  The  library  is  on  the  floor  above  this,  is  it 
not  ?  "  asked  young  Madame  des  Aubels,  showing 
an  unexpected  interest  in  the  books. 

Madame  d'Esparvieu  replied  that  the  library 
occupied  the  whole  of  the  second  floor,  and  that 
they  had  put  the  least  valuable  books  in  the  attics. 

"  Could  I  not  go  and  look  at  it  ?  " 

The  mistress  of  the  house  declared  that  nothing 
could  be  easier.  She  called  to  her  son : 

"  Maurice,  go  and  do  the  honours  of  the  library 
to  Madame  des  Aubels." 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      67 

Maurice  rose,  and  without  uttering  a  word, 
mounted  to  the  second  floor  in  the  wake  of  Madame 
des  Aubels. 

He  appeared  indifferent,  but  inwardly  he  re- 
joiced, for  he  had  no  doubt  that  Gilberte  had 
feigned  her  ardent  desire  to  inspect  the  library 
simply  to  see  him  in  secret.  And,  while  affecting 
indifference,  he  promised  himself  to  renew  those 
offers  which,  this  time,  would  not  be  refused. 

Under  the  romantic  bust  of  Alexandre  d'Espar- 
vieu,  they  were  met  by  the  silent  shadow  of  a  little 
wan,  hollow-eyed  old  man,  who  wore  a  settled  ex- 
pression of  mute  terror. 

"  Do  not  let  us  disturb  you,  Monsieur  Sariette," 
said  Maurice.  "  I  am  showing  Madame  des  Aubels 
round  the  library." 

Maurice  and  Madame  des  Aubels  passed  on  into 
the  great  room  where  against  the  four  walls  rose 
presses  filled  with  books  and  surmounted  by  bronze 
busts  of  poets,  philosophers  and  orators  of  antiquity. 
All  was  in  perfect  order,  an  order  which  seemed 
never  to  have  been  disturbed  from  the  beginning 
of  things. 

Only,  a  black  void  was  to  be  seen  in  the  place 
which,  only  the  evening  before,  had  been  filled 
by  an  unpublished  manuscript  of  Richard  Simon. 
Meanwhile,  by  the  side  of  the  young  couple  walked 
Monsieur  Sariette,  pale,  faded  and  silent. 


68      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

"  Really  and  truly,  you  have  not  been  nice," 
said  Maurice,  with  a  look  of  reproach  at  Madame 
des  Aubels. 

She  signed  to  him  that  the  librarian  might  over- 
hear. But  he  reassured  her. 

"  Take  no  notice.  It  is  old  Sariette.  He  has 
become  a  complete  idiot."  And  he  repeated : 
"  No,  you  have  not  been  at  all  nice.  I  awaited 
you.  You  did  not  come.  You  have  made  me  un- 
happy." 

After  a  moment's  silence,  while  one  heard  the 
low  melancholy  whistling  of  asthma  in  poor 
Sariette's  bronchial  tubes,  young  Maurice  con- 
tinued insistently : 

"  You  are  wrong." 

"  Why  wrong  ?  " 

"  Wrong  not  to  do  as  I  ask  you." 

"  Do  you  still  think  so  ?  " 

"Certainly."      ., 

"  You  meant  it  seriously  ?  " 

"  As  seriously  as  can  be." 

Touched  by  his  assurance  of  sincere  and  constant 
feeling,  and  thinking  she  had  resisted  sufficiently, 
Gilberte  granted  to  Maurice  what  she  had  refused 
him  a  fortnight  ago. 

They  slipped  into  an  embrasure  of  the  window, 
behind  an  enormous  celestial  globe  whereon  were 
graven  the  Signs  of  the  Zodiac  and  the  figures  of 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      69 

the  stars,  and  there,  their  gaze  fixed  on  the  Lion, 
the  Virgin,  and  the  Scales,  in  the  presence  of  a 
multitude  of  Bibles,  before  the  works  of  the  Fathers, 
both  Greek  and  Latin,  beneath  the  casts  of  Homer, 
-/Eschylus,  Sophocles,  Euripides,  Herodotus,  Thucy- 
dides,  Socrates,  Plato,  Aristotle,  Demosthenes, 
Cicero,  Virgil,  Horace,  Seneca,  and  Epictetus, 
they  exchanged  vows  of  love  and  a  long  kiss  on  the 
mouth. 

Almost  immediately  Madame  des  Aubels  be- 
thought herself  that  she  still  had  some  calls  to  pay, 
and  that  she  must  make  her  escape  quickly,  for  love 
had  not  made  her  lose  all  sense  of  her  own  import- 
ance. But  she  had  barely  crossed  the  landing  with 
Maurice  when  they  heard  a  hoarse  cry  and  saw 
Monsieur  Sariette  plunge  madly  downstairs,  ex- 
claiming as  he  went : 

"  Stop  it,  stop  it,  I  saw  it  fly  away  !  It  escaped 
from  the  shelf  by  itself.  It  crossed  the  room  .  .  . 
there  it  is — there  !  It's  going  downstairs.  Stop  it ! 
It  has  gone  out  of  the  door  on  the  ground  floor  !  " 

"  What  ?  "  asked  Maurice. 

Monsieur  Sariette  looked  out  of  the  landing 
window,  murmuring,  horror-struck : 

"  It's  crossing  the  garden  !  It's  going  into  the 
summer-house.  Stop  it,  stop  it  !  " 

"But  what  is  it  ?"  repeated  Maurice — "in  God's 
name,  what  is  it  ?  " 


yo      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

"  My  Flavius  Josephus,"  exclaimed  Monsieur 
Sariette.  "  Stop  it !  " 

And  he  fell  down  unconscious. 

"  You  see  he  is  quite  mad,"  said  Maurice  to 
Madame  des  Aubels,  as  he  lifted  up  the  unfortunate 
librarian. 

Gilberte,  a  little  pale,  said  she  also  thought  she 
had  seen  something  in  the  direction  indicated  by 
the  unhappy  man,  something  flying. 

Maurice  had  seen  nothing,  but  he  had  felt  what 
seemed  like  a  gust  of  wind. 

He  left  Monsieur  Sariette  in  the  arms  of  Hippo- 
lyte  and  the  housekeeper,  who  had  both  hastened 
to  the  spot  on  hearing  the  noise. 

The  old  gentleman  had  a  wound  in  his  head. 

"  All  the  better,"  said  the  housekeeper,  "  this 
wound  may  save  him  from  having  a  fit." 

Madame  des  Aubels  gave  her  handkerchief  to 
stop  the  blood,  and  recommended  an  arnica  com- 
press. 


CHAPTER  IX 


WHEREIN  IT  IS  SHOWN  THAT,  AS  AN  ANCIENT  GREEK 
POET  SAID,  "  NOTHING  IS  SWEETER  THAN  APHRO- 
DITE THE  GOLDEN  " 

LTHOUGH  he  had  enjoyed  Madame 
des  Aubels'  favours  for  six  whole 
months,  Maurice  still  loved  her.  True, 
they  had  had  to  separate  during  the 
summer.  For  lack  of  funds  of  his 
own  he  had  had  to  go  to  Switzerland  with  his 
mother,  and  then  to  stop  with  the  whole  family 
at  the  Chateau  d'Esparvieu.  She  had  spent  the 
summer  with  her  mother  at  Niort,  and  the  autumn 
with  her  husband  at  a  little  Normandy  seaside 
place,  so  that  they  had  hardly  seen  each  other  four 
or  five  times.  But  since  the  winter,  kindly  to  lovers, 
had  brought  them  back  to  town  again,  Maurice  had 
been  receiving  her  twice  a  week  in  his  little  flat  in 
the  Rue  de  Rome,  and  received  no  one  else.  No 
other  woman  had  inspired  him  with  feelings  of 
such  constancy  and  fidelity.  What  augmented  his 
pleasure  was  that  he  believed  himself  loved,  and 
indeed  he  was  not  unpleasing. 

71 


72      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

He  thought  that  she  did  not  deceive  him,  not 
that  he  had  any  reason  to  think  so,  but  it  appeared 
right  and  fitting  that  she  should  be  content  with 
him  alone.  What  annoyed  him  was  that  she 
always  kept  him  waiting,  and  was  unpunctual  in 
coming  to  their  meeting-place;  she  was  invariably 
late, — at  times  very  late. 

Now  on  Saturday,  January  3Oth,  since  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  Maurice  had  been  await- 
ing Madame  des  Aubels  in  the  little  pink  room, 
where  a  bright  fire  was  burning.  He  was  gaily 
clad  in  a  suit  of  flowered  pyjamas,  smoking  Turkish 
cigarettes.  At  first  he  dreamt  of  receiving  her  with 
long  kisses,  with  hitherto  unknown  caresses.  A 
quarter  of  an  hour  having  passed,  he  meditated 
serious  and  affectionate  reproaches,  then  after 
an  hour  of  disappointed  waiting  he  vowed  he 
would  meet  her  with  cold  disdain. 

At  length  she  appeared,  fresh  and  fragrant. 

"  It  was  scarcely  worth  while  coming,"  he  said 
bitterly,  as  she  laid  her  muff  and  her  little  bag  on  the 
table  and  untied  her  veil  before  the  wardrobe  mirror. 

Never,  she  told  her  beloved,  had  she  had  such 
trouble  to  get  away.  She  was  full  of  excuses, 
which  he  obstinately  rejected.  But  no  sooner  had 
she  the  good  sense  to  hold  her  tongue  than  he 
ceased  his  reproaches,  and  then  nothing  detracted 
from  the  longing  with  which  she  inspired  him. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      73 

The  curtains  were  drawn,  the  room  was  bathed 
in  warm  shadows  lit  by  the  dancing  gleams  of  the 
fire.  The  mirrors  in  the  wardrobe  and  on  the 
chimney-piece  shone  with  mysterious  lights.  Gil- 
berte,  leaning  on  her  elbow,  head  on  hand,  was 
lost  in  thought.  A  little  jeweller,  a  trustworthy 
and  intelligent  man,  had  shown  her  a  wonderfully 
pretty  pearl  and  sapphire  bracelet ;  it  was  worth  a 
great  deal,  and  was  to  be  had  for  a  mere  nothing. 
He  had  got  it  from  a  cocotte  down  on  her  luck,  who 
was  in  a  hurry  to  dispose  of  it.  It  was  a  rare  chance, 
it  would  be  a  huge  pity  to  let  it  slip. 

"  Would  you  like  to  see  it,  darling  ?  I  will  ask 
the  little  man  to  let  me  have  it  to  show  you." 

Maurice  did  not  actually  decline  the  proposal. 
But  it  was  clear  that  he  took  no  interest  in  the 
wonderful  bracelet.  "  When  small  jewellers  come 
across  a  great  bargain,  they  keep  it  to  themselves, 
arid  do  not  allow  their  customers  to  profit  by  it. 
Moreover,  jewellery  means  nothing  just  now. 
Well-bred  women  have  given  up  wearing  it.  Every- 
one goes  in  for  sport,  and  jewellery  does  not  go 
with  sport." 

Maurice  spoke  thus,  contrary  to  truth,  because, 
having  given  his  mistress  a  fur  coat,  he  was  in  no 
hurry  to  give  her  anything  more.  He  was  not 
stingy,  but  he  was  careful  with  his  money.  His 
people  did  not  give  him  a  very  large  allowance,  and 


74     THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

his  debts  grew  bigger  every  day.  By  satisfying  the 
wishes  of  his  inamorata  too  promptly  he  feared  to 
arouse  others  still  more  pressing.  The  bargain 
seemed  less  wonderful  to  him  than  to  Gilberte ; 
besides,  he  liked  to  take  the  initiative  in  choosing 
his  gifts.  Above  all,  he  thought  that  if  he  gave 
her  too  many  presents  he  would  be  no  longer  sure 
of  being  loved  for  himself. 

Madame  des  Aubels  felt  neither  contempt  nor 
surprise  at  this  attitude  ;  she  was  gentle  and  tem- 
perate, she  knew  men,  and  judged  that  one  must 
take  them  as  one  found  them,  that  for  the  most 
part  they  do  not  give  very  willingly,  and  that  a 
woman  should  know  how  to  make  them  give. 

Suddenly  a  gas  lamp  was  lighted  in  the  street, 
and  shone  through  the  gaps  in  the  curtains. 

"  Half-past  six,"  she  said.    "  We  must  be  on  the 


move." 


Pricked  by  the  touch  of  Time's  fleeting  wing, 
Maurice  was  conscious  of  reawakened  desires  and 
reanimated  powers.  A  white  and  radiant  offering, 
Gilberte,  with  her  head  thrown  back,  her  eyes 
half  closed,  her  lips  apart,  sunk  in  dreamy  languor, 
was  breathing  slowly  and  placidly,  when  suddenly 
she  started  up  with  a  cry  of  terror. 

"  Whatever  is  that  ?  " 

"  Stay  still,"  said  Maurice,  holding  her  back  in 
his  arms. 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      75 

In  his  present  mood,  had  the  sky  fallen  it  would 
not  have  troubled  him.  But  in  one  bound  she 
escaped  from  him.  Crouching  down,  her  eyes  filled 
with  terror,  she  was  pointing  with  her  finger  at  a 
figure  which  appeared  in  a  corner  of  the  room, 
between  the  fire-place  and  the  wardrobe  with  the 
mirror.  Then,  unable  to  bear  the  sight,  and  nearly 
fainting,  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands. 


CHAPTER  X 

WHICH  FAR  SURPASSES  IN  AUDACITY  THE  IMAGINATIVE 
FLIGHTS    OF    DANTE   AND    MILTON 

AURICE  at  length  turned  his  head, 
saw  the  figure,  and  perceiving  that 
it  moved,  was  also  frightened. 
Meanwhile,  Gilberte  was  regaining 
her  senses.  She  imagined  that  what 
she  had  seen  was  some  mistress  whom  her  lover  had 
hidden  in  the  room.  Inflamed  with  anger  and 
disgust  at  the  idea  of  such  treachery,  boiling  with 
indignation,  and  glaring  at  her  supposed  rival, 
she  exclaimed : 

"  A  woman  ...  a  naked  woman  too  !  You 
bring  me  into  a  room  where  you  allow  your  women 
to  come,  and  when  I  arrive  they  have  not  had  time 
to  dress.  And  you  reproach  me  with  arriving 
late  !  Your  impudence  is  beyond  belief  !  Come, 
send  the  creature  packing.  If  you  wanted  us  both 
here  together,  you  might  at  least  have  asked  me 
whether  it  suited  me.  .  .  ." 

Maurice,  wide-eyed  and  groping  for  a  revolver 
that  had  never  been  there,  whispered  in  her  ear : 

76 


77 

"  Be  quiet  ...  it  is  no  woman.  One  can  scarcely 
see,  but  it  is  more  like  a  man." 

She  put  her  hands  over  her  eyes  again  and 
screamed  harder  than  ever. 

"  A  man  !  Where  does  he  come  from  ?  A  thief. 
An  assassin  !  Help  !  Help  !  Kill  him. . . .  Maurice, 
kill  him  !  Turn  on  the  light.  No,  don't  turn  on 
the  light " 

She  made  a  mental  vow  that  should  she  escape 
from  this  danger  she  would  burn  a  candle  to  the 
Blessed  Virgin.  Her  teeth  chattered. 

The  figure  made  a  movement. 

"  Keep  away  !  "  cried  Gilberte.    "  Keep  away  !  " 

She  offered  the  burglar  all  the  money  and  jewels 
she  had  on  the  table  if  he  would  consent  not  to 
stir.  Amid  her  surprise  and  terror  the  idea  assailed 
her  that  her  husband,  dissembling  his  suspicions, 
had  caused  her  to  be  followed,  had  posted  witnesses, 
and  had  had  recourse  to  the  Commissaire  de  Police. 
In  a  flash  she  distinctly  saw  before  her  the  long, 
painful  future,  the  glaring  scandal,  the  pretended 
disdain,  the  cowardly  desertion  of  her  friends,  the 
just  mockery  of  society,  for  it  is  indeed  ridiculous 
to  be  found  out.  She  saw  the  divorce,  the  loss  of 
her  position  and  of  her  rank.  She  saw  the  dreary 
and  narrow  existence  with  her  mother,  when  no 
one  would  make  love  to  her,  for  men  avoid  women 
who  fail  to  give  them  the  security  of  the  married 


;8      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

state.  And  all  this,  why  ?  Why  this  ruin,  this 
disaster  ?  For  a  piece  of  folly,  for  a  mere  nothing. 
Thus  in  a  lightning  flash  spoke  the  conscience  of 
Gilberte  des  Aubels. 

"  Have  no  fear,  Madame,"  said  a  very  sweet 
voice. 

Slightly  reassured,  she  found  strength  to  ask : 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  an  angel,"  replied  the  voice. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  am  an  angel.  I  am  Maurice's  guardian 
angel." 

"  Say  it  again.  I  am  going  mad.  I  do  not 
understand.  .  .  ." 

Maurice,  without  understanding  either,  was 
indignant.  He  sprang  forward  and  showed  himself ; 
with  his  right  hand  armed  with  a  slipper  he  made 
a  threatening  gesture,  and  said  in  a  rough  voice : 

"  You  are  a  low  ruffian  ;  oblige  me  by  going  the 
way  you  came." 

"  Maurice  d'Esparvieu,"  continued  the  sweet 
voice.  "  He  whom  you  adore  as  your  Creator  has 
stationed  by  the  side  of  each  of  the  faithful  a  good 
angel,  whose  mission  it  is  to  counsel  and  protect 
him  ;  it  is  the  invariable  opinion  of  the  Fathers, 
it  is  founded  on  many  passages  in  the  Bible,  the 
Church  admits  it  unanimously,  without,  however, 
pronouncing  anathema  upon  those  who  hold  a 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS       79 

contrary  opinion.  You  see  before  you  one  of  these 
angels,  yours,  Maurice.  I  was  commanded  to 
watch  over  your  innocence  and  to  guard  your 
chastity." 

"  That  may  be,"  said  Maurice  ;  "  but  you  are 
certainly  no  gentleman.  A  gentleman  would  not 
permit  himself  to  enter  a  room  at  such  a  moment. 
To  be  plain,  what  the  deuce  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"  I  have  assumed  this  appearance,  Maurice, 
because,  having  henceforth  to  move  among  man- 
kind, I  have  to  make  myself  like  them.  The  celestial 
spirits  possess  the  power  of  assuming  a  form  which 
renders  them  apparent  to  the  eye  and  to  the  touch. 
This  shape  is  real,  because  it  is  apparent,  and  all  the 
realities  in  the  world  are  but  appearances." 

Gilberte,  pacified  at  length,  was  arranging  her 
hair  on  her  forehead. 

The  Angel  pursued : 

"  The  celestial  spirits  adopt,  according  to  their 
fancy,  one  sex  or  the  other,  or  both  at  once.  But 
they  cannot  disguise  themselves  at  any  moment, 
according  to  their  caprice  or  fantasy.  Their 
metamorphoses  are  subject  to  constant  laws,  which 
you  would  not  understand.  Thus  I  have  neither 
desire  nor  power  to  transform  myself  under  your 
eyes,  for  your  amusement  or  my  own,  into  a 
lion,  a  tiger,  a  fly,  or  into  a  sycamore-shaving  like 
the  young  Egyptian  whose  story  was  found  in  a 


8o      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE   ANGELS 

tomb.  I  cannot  change  myself  into  an  ass  as  did 
Lucius  with  the  pomade  of  the  youthful  Photis. 
For  in  my  wisdom  I  had  fixed  beforehand  the 
hour  of  my  apparition  to  mankind ;  nothing  could 
hasten  or  delay  it." 

Impatient  for  enlightenment,  Maurice  asked  for 
the  second  time : 

"  Still,  what  are  you  up  to  here  ?  " 

Joining  her  voice  to  his,  Madame  des  Aubels 
asked :  "  Yes,  indeed,  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

The  Angel  replied : 

"  Man,  lend  your  ear.  Woman,  hear  my  voice. 
I  am  about  to  reveal  to  you  a  secret  on  which  hangs 
the  fate  of  the  Universe.  In  rebellion  against  Him 
whom  you  hold  to  be  the  Creator  of  all  things 
visible  and  invisible,  I  am  preparing  the  Revolt  of 
the  Angels." 

"  Do  not  jest,"  said  Maurice,  who  had  faith 
and  did  not  allow  holy  things  to  be  played 
with. 

But  the  Angel  answered  reproachfully :  "  What 
makes  you  think,  Maurice,  that  I  am  frivolous  and 
given  to  vain  words  ?  " 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Maurice,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders. "You  are  not  going  to  revolt  against ' 

He  pointed  to  the  ceiling — not  daring  to  finish. 

But  the  Angel  continued : 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  the  sons  of  God  have 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS       81 

already  revolted  and  that  a  great  battle  took  place 
in  the  heavens  ?  " 

"  That  was  a  long  time  ago,"  said  Maurice, 
putting  on  his  socks. 

Then  the  Angel  replied : 

"  It  was  before  the  creation  of  the  world.  But 
nothing  has  changed  since  then  in  the  heavens. 
The  nature  of  the  Angels  is  no  different  now  from 
what  it  was  originally.  What  they  did  then  they 
could  do  again  now." 

"  No !  It  is  not  possible.  It  is  contrary  to 
faith.  If  you  were  an  angel,  a  good  angel  as  you 
make  out  you  are,  it  would  never  occur  to  you  to 
disobey  your  Creator." 

"  You  are  in  error,  Maurice,  and  the  authority  of 
the  Fathers  condemns  you.  Origen  lays  it  down  in 
his  homilies  that  good  angels  are  fallible,  that  they 
sin  every  day  and  fall  from  Heaven  like  flies.  Possibly 
you  may  be  tempted  to  reject  the  authority  of  this 
Father,  despite  his  knowledge  of  the  Scriptures, 
because  he  is  excluded  from  the  Canon  of  the  Saints. 
If  this  be  so,  I  would  remind  you  of  the  second 
chapter  of  Revelation,  in  which  the  Angels  of 
Ephesus  and  Pergamos  are  rebuked  for  that  they 
kept  not  ward  over  their  church.  You  will  doubt- 
less contend  that  the  angels  to  whom  the  Apostle 
here  refers  are,  properly  speaking,  the  Bishops  of  the 
two  cities  in  question,  and  that  he  calls  them  angels 


82      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

on  account  of  their  ministry.  It  may  be  so,  and  I 
cede  the  point.  But  with  what  arguments,  Maurice, 
would  you  counter  the  opinion  of  all  those  Doctors 
and  Pontiffs  whose  unanimous  teaching  it  is  that 
angels  may  fall  from  good  into  evil  ?  Such  is  the 
statement  made  by  Saint  Jerome  in  his  Epistle  to 
Damasus.  .  .  ." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Madame  des  Aubels,  "  go 
away,  I  beg  you." 

But  the  Angel  hearkened  not,  and  continued : 

"  Saint  Augustine,  in  his  True  Religion,  Chap- 
ter XIII ;  Saint  Gregory,  in  his  Morals,  Chapter 
XXIV;  Isidore " 

"  Monsieur,  let  me  get  my  things  on ;  I  am  in  a 
hurry." 

"  In  his  treatise  on  The  Greatest  Good,  Book  I, 
Chapter  XII ;  Bede  on  Job " 

"  Oh,  please,  Monsieur  .  .  ." 

"  Chapter  VIII;  John  of  Damascus  on  Faith,  Book 
II,  Chapter  III.  Those,  I  think,  are  sufficiently 
weighty  authorities,  and  there  is  nothing  for  it, 
Maurice,  but  to  admit  your  error.  What  has  led 
you  astray  is  that  you  have  not  duly  considered 
my  nature,  which  is  free,  active  and  mobile,  like 
that  of  all  the  angels,  and  that  you  have  merely 
observed  the  grace  and  felicity  with  which  you 
deem  me  so  richly  endowed.  Lucifer  possessed  no 
less,  yet  he  rebelled." 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS   83 

"  But  what  on  earth  are  you  rebelling  for  ?  " 
asked  Maurice. 

"  Isaiah,"  answered  the  child  of  light,  "  Isaiah 
has  already  asked,  before  you :  *  Quomodo  cecidisti 
de  coelo,  Lucifer,  qui  mane  oriebaris  ? '  Hearken, 
Maurice.  Before  Time  was,  the  Angels  rose  up  to 
win  dominion  over  Heaven,  the  most  beautiful  of 
the  Seraphim  revolted  through  pride.  As  for  me, 
it  is  science  that  has  inspired  me  with  the  generous 
desire  for  freedom.  Finding  myself  near  you, 
Maurice,  in  a  house  containing  one  of  the  vastest 
libraries  in  the  world,  I  acquired  a  taste  for  reading 
and  a  love  of  study.  While,  fordone  with  the  toils 
of  a  sensual  life,  you  lay  sunk  in  heavy  slumber, 
I  surrounded  myself  with  books,  I  studied,  I 
pondered  over  their  pages,  sometimes  in  one  of  the 
rooms  of  the  library,  under  the  busts  of  the  great 
men  of  antiquity,  sometimes  at  the  far  end  of  the 
garden,  in  the  room  in  the  summer-house  next  to 
your  own." 

On  hearing  these  words,  young  d'Esparvieu 
exploded  with  laughter  and  beat  the  pillow  with 
his  fist,  an  infallible  sign  of  uncontrollable  mirth. 

"  Ah  ...  ah  ...  ah  !  It  was  you  who  pillaged 
papa's  library  and  drove  poor  old  Sariette  off  his 
head !  You  know,  he  has  become  completely 
idiotic." 

"  Busily  engaged,"  continued  the  Angel, "  in  culti- 


84      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

vating  for  myself  a  sovereign  intelligence,  I  paid 
no  heed  to  that  inferior  being,  and  when  he  thought 
to  offer  obstacles  to  my  researches  and  to  disturb 
my  work  I  punished  him  for  his  importunity. 

"  One  particular  winter's  night  in  the  abode  of 
the  philosophers  and  globes  I  let  fall  a  volume  of 
great  weight  on  his  head,  which  he  tried  to  tear 
from  my  invisible  hand.  Then  more  recently, 
raising,  with  a  vigorous  arm  composed  of  a  column 
of  condensed  air,  a  precious  manuscript  of  Flavius 
Josephus,  I  gave  the  imbecile  such  a  fright,  that 
he  rushed  out  screaming  on  to  the  landing  and 
(to  borrow  a  striking  expression  from  Dante 
Alighieri)  fell  even  as  a  dead  body  falls.  He  was 
well  rewarded,  for  you  gave  him,  Madame,  to 
staunch  the  blood  from  his  wound,  your  little 
scented  handkerchief.  It  was  the  day,  you  may 
remember,  when  behind  a  celestial  globe  you 
exchanged  a  kiss  on  the  mouth  with  Maurice." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  Madame  des  Aubels,  with  a 
frown,  "  I  cannot  allow  you  .  .  ." 

But  she  stopped  short,  deeming  it  was  an  in- 
opportune moment  to  appear  over-exacting  on  a 
matter  of  decorum. 

"  I  had  made  up  my  mind,"  continued  the  Angel 
impassively,  "  to  examine  the  foundations  of  belief. 
I  first  attacked  the  monuments  of  Judaism,  and  I 
read  all  the  Hebrew  texts." 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS       85 

"  You  know  Hebrew,  then  ?  "  exclaimed  Maurice. 

"  Hebrew  is  my  native  tongue :  in  Paradise  for 
a  long  time  we  have  spoken  nothing  else." 

"  Ah,  you  are  a  Jew.  I  might  have  deduced  it 
from  your  want  of  tact." 

The  Angel,  not  deigning  to  hear,  continued  in 
his  melodious  voice :  "  I  have  delved  deep  into 
Oriental  antiquities  and  also  into  those  of  Greece 
and  Rome.  I  have  devoured  the  works  of  theo- 
logians, philosophers,  physicists,  geologists  and 
naturalists.  I  have  learnt.  I  have  thought.  I 
have  lost  my  faith." 

"  What  ?    You  no  longer  believe  in  God  ?  " 

"  I  believe  in  Him,  since  my  existence  depends 
on  His,  and  if  He  should  fail  to  exist,  I  myself 
should  fall  into  nothingness.  I  believe  in  Him, 
even  as  the  Satyrs  and  the  Maenads  believed  in 
Dionysus  and  for  the  same  reason.  I  believe  in 
the  God  of  the  Jews  and  the  Christians.  But  I 
deny  that  He  created  the  world  ;  at  the  most  He 
organised  but  an  inferior  part  of  it,  and  all  that  He 
touched  bears  the  mark  of  His  rough  and  unfore- 
seeing  touch.  I  do  not  think  He  is  either  eternal  or 
infinite,  for  it  is  absurd  to  conceive  of  a  being  who 
is  not  bounded  by  space  or  time.  I  think  Him 
limited,  even  very  limited.  I  no  longer  believe 
Him  to  be  the  only  God.  For  a  long  time  He  did 
not  believe  it  Himself ;  in  the  beginning  He  was 


86      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 


a  polytheist ;  later,  His  pride  and  the  flattery  of 
His  worshippers  made  Him  a  monotheist.  His 
ideas  have  little  connection  ;  He  is  less  powerful 
than  He  is  thought  to  be.  And,  to  speak  candidly, 
He  is  not  so  much  a  god  as  a  vain  and  ignorant 
demiurge.  Those  who,  like  myself,  know  His  true 
nature,  call  Him  laldabaoth." 

"  What's  that  you  say  ?  " 

"  laldabaoth." 

"  laldabaoth.    What's  that  ?  " 

"  I  have  already  told  you.  It  is  the  demiurge 
whom,  in  your  blindness,  you  adore  as  the  one  and 
only  God." 

"  You're  mad.  I  don't  advise  you  to  go  and  talk 
rubbish  like  that  to  Abbe  Patouille." 

"  I  am  not  in  the  least  sanguine,  my  dear  Maurice, 
of  piercing  the  dense  night  of  your  intellect.  I 
merely  tell  you  that  I  am  going  to  engage  laldabaoth 
in  conflict  with  some  hopes  of  victory. 

"  Mark  my  words,  you  won't  succeed." 

"  Lucifer  shook  His  throne,  and  the  issue  was  for 
a  moment  in  doubt." 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Abdiel  for  the  angels  and  saints,  Arcade  for 
mankind." 

"  Well,  my  poor  Arcade,  I  regret  to  see  you 
going  to  the  bad.  But  confess  that  you  are  jesting 
with  us.  I  could  at  a  pinch  understand  your  leaving 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS       87 

Heaven  for  a  woman.  Love  makes  us  commit  the 
greatest  follies.  But  you  will  never  make  me  be- 
lieve that  you,  who  have  seen  God  face  to  face, 
ultimately  found  the  truth  in  old  Sariette's  musty 
books.  No,  you  will  never  get  me  to  believe  that!" 

"  My  dear  Maurice,  Lucifer  was  face  to  face 
with  God,  yet  he  refused  to  serve  Him.  As  to  the 
kind  of  truth  one  finds  in  books,  it  is  a  truth  that 
enables  us  sometimes  to  discern  what  things  are 
not,  without  ever  enabling  us  to  discover  what  they 
are.  And  this  poor  little  truth  has  sufficed  to  prove 
to  me  that  He  in  whom  I  blindly  believed  is  not 
believable,  and  that  men  and  angels  have  been 
deceived  by  the  lies  of  laldabaoth." 

"  There  is  no  laldabaoth.  There  is  God.  Come, 
Arcade,  do  the  right  thing.  Renounce  these 
follies,  these  impieties,  dis-incarnate  yourself,  be- 
come once  more  a  pure  Spirit,  and  resume  your 
office  of  guardian  angel.  Return  to  duty.  I 
forgive  you,  but  do  not  let  us  see  you  again." 

"  I  should  like  to  please  you,  Maurice.  I  feel  a 
certain  affection  for  you,  for  my  heart  is  soft.  But 
fate  henceforth  calls  me  elsewhere  towards  beings 
capable  of  thought  and  action." 

"  Monsieur  Arcade,"  said  Madame  des  Aubels, 
"  withdraw,  I  implore  you.  It  makes  me  horribly 
shy  to  be  in  this  position  before  two  men.  I  assure 
you  I  am  not  accustomed  to  it." 


CHAPTER  XI 

RECOUNTS  IN  WHAT  MANNER  THE  ANGEL,  ATTIRED  IN 
THE  CAST-OFF  GARMENTS  OF  A  SUICIDE,  LEAVES 
THE  YOUTHFUL  MAURICE  WITHOUT  A  HEAVENLY 
GUARDIAN 

EASSURE  yourself,  Madame,"  re- 
plied the  apparition,  "  your  position 
is  not  as  risky  as  you  say.    You  are 
not  confronted  with  two  men,  but 
with  one  man  and  an  angel." 
She  examined  the  stranger  with  an  eye  which, 
piercing    the    gloom,  was    anxiously    surveying    a 
vague  but  by  no  means  negligible  indication,  and 
asked : 

"  Monsieur,  is  it  quite  certain  that  you  are  an 
angel  ?  " 

The  apparition  prayed  her  to  have  no  doubt 
about  it,  and  gave  some  precise  information  as  to 
his  origin. 

"  There  are  three  hierarchies  of  celestial  spirits, 
each  composed  of  nine  choirs ;  the  first,  comprises 
the  Seraphim,  Cherubim,  and  the  Thrones ;  the 
second,  the  Dominations,  the  Virtues  and  the 

88 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      89 

Powers ;  the  third,  the  Principalities,  the  Arch- 
angels and  the  Angels  properly  so  called.  I  belong 
to  the  ninth  choir  of  the  third  hierarchy." 

Madame  des  Aubels,  who  had  her  reasons  for 
doubting  this,  expressed  at  least  one : 

"  You  have  no  wings." 

"  Why  should  I,  Madame  ?  Am  I  bound  to 
resemble  the  angels  on  your  holy  water  stoups  ? 
Those  feathery  oars  that  beat  the  waves  of  the  air 
in  rhythmic  cadences  are  not  always  worn  by  the 
heavenly  messengers  on  their  shoulders.  Cherubim 
may  be  apterous.  That  all  too  beautiful  angelic 
pair  who  spent  an  anxious  night  in  the  house  of 
Lot  compassed  about  by  an  oriental  horde — they 
had  no  wings  !  No,  they  appeared  just  like  men 
and  the  dust  of  the  road  covered  their  feet,  which 
the  patriarch  washed  with  pious  hand.  I  would 
beg  you  to  observe,  Madame,  that  according  to  the 
Science  of  Organic  Metamorphosis  created  by 
Lamarck  and  Darwin,  the  wings  of  birds  have  been 
successively  transformed  into  fore-feet  in  the  case 
of  quadrupeds  and  into  arms  in  the  case  of  the 
Linnaean  primates.  And  you  may  remember, 
Maurice,  that  by  a  rather  annoying  reversion  to 
type,  Miss  Kate,  your  English  nurse,  who  used  to 
be  so  fond  of  giving  you  a  whipping,  had  arms  very 
like  the  pinions  of  a  plucked  fowl.  One  may  say, 
then,  that  a  being  possessing  both  arms  and  wings  is 


90      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

a  monster  and  belongs  to  the  department  of  Tera- 
tology. In  Paradise  we  have  Cherubim  or  Kerubs 
in  the  shape  of  winged  bulls,  but  those  are  the 
clumsy  inventions  of  an  inartistic  god.  It  is 
nevertheless  true,  quite  true,  that  the  Victories  of 
the  Temple  of  Athena  Nike  on  the  Athenian 
Acropolis  are  beautiful,  and  possess  both  arms  and 
wings ;  it  is  also  true  that  the  Victory  of  Brescia  is 
beautiful,  with  her  outstretched  arms  and  her  long 
wings  folded  on  her  mighty  loins.  It  is  one  of  the 
miracles  of  Greek  genius  to  have  known  how  to 
create  harmonious  monsters.  The  Greeks  never 
err.  The  Moderns  always." 

"  Yet  on  the  whole,"  said  Madame  des  Aubels, 
"  you  have  not  the  look  of  a  pure  Spirit." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  am  one,  Madame,  if  ever  there 
was  one.  And  it  ill  becomes  you,  who  have  been 
baptized,  to  doubt  it.  Several  of  the  Fathers,  such 
as  St.  Justin,  Tertullian,  Origen  and  Clement  of 
Alexandria  thought  that  the  Angels  were  not  purely 
spiritual,  but  possessed  a  body  formed  of  some 
subtile  material.  This  opinion  has  been  rejected 
by  the  Church ;  hence  I  am  merely  Spirit.  But 
what  is  spirit  and  what  is  matter  ?  Formerly  they 
were  contrasted  as  being  two  opposites,  and  now 
your  human  science  tends  to  reunite  them  as  two 
aspects  of  the  same  thing.  It  teaches  that  every- 
thing proceeds  from  ether  and  everything  returns 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS   91 

to  it,  that  the  same  movement  transforms  the  waves 
of  air  into  stones  and  minerals,  and  that  the  atoms 
scattered  throughout  illimitable  space,  form,  by  the 
varying  speed  of  their  orbits,  all  the  substance  of 
this  material  world." 

But  Madame  des  Aubels  was  not  listening.  She 
had  something  on  her  mind,  and  to  put  an  end  to 
her  suspense,  she  asked  : 

;'  How  long  have  you  been  here  ?  " 

"  I  came  with  Maurice." 

"  Well — that's  a  nice  thing  !  "  said  she,  shaking 
her  head.  But  the  Angel  continued  with  heavenly 
serenity  : 

"  Everything  in  the  Universe  is  circular,  elliptical 
or  hyperbolic,  and  the  same  laws  which  rule  the  stars 
govern  this  grain  of  dust.  In  the  original  and  native 
movement  of  its  substance,  my  body  is  spiritual, 
but  it  may  affect,  as  you  perceive,  this  material  state, 
by  changing  the  rhythm  of  its  elements." 

Having  thus  spoken  he  sat  down  in  a  chair  on 
Madame  des  Aubels'  black  stockings. 

A  clock  struck  outside. 

"  Good  heavens,  seven  o'clock !  "  exclaimed 
Gilberte.  "  What  am  I  to  say  to  my  husband  ? 
He  thinks  I  am  at  that  tea-party  in  the  Rue  de 
Rivoli.  We  are  dining  with  the  La  Verdelieres  to- 
night. Go  away  immediately,  Monsieur  Arcade.  I 
must  get  ready  to  go.  I  have  not  a  second  to  lose." 


92      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

The  Angel  replied  that  he  would  have  willingly 
obeyed  Madame  des  Aubels  had  he  been  in  a  state 
to  show  himself  decently  in  public,  but  that  he 
could  not  dream  of  appearing  out  of  doors  without 
any  clothes.  "  Were  I  to  walk  naked  in  the  street," 
he  added,  "  I  should  offend  a  nation  attached  to  its 
ancient  habits,  habits  which  it  has  never  examined. 
They  are  the  basis  of  all  moral  systems.  Formerly," 
he  added,  "  the  angels,  in  revolt  like  myself,  mani- 
fested themselves  to  Christians  under  grotesque 
and  ridiculous  appearances,  black,  horned,  hairy, 
and  cloven-footed.  Pure  stupidity  !  They  were 
the  laughing-stock  of  people  of  taste.  They  merely 
frightened  old  women  and  children  and  met  with 


no  success." 


"  It  is  true  he  cannot  go  out  as  he  is,"  said  Madame 
des  Aubels  with  justice. 

Maurice  tossed  his  pyjamas  and  his  slippers  to  the 
celestial  messenger.  Regarded  as  outdoor  habili- 
ments they  were  not  adequate.  Gilberte  pressed 
her  lover  to  run  at  once  in  quest  of  other  clothes. 
He  proposed  to  go  and  get  some  from  the  concierge. 
She  was  violently  opposed  to  this.  It  would,  she 
said,  be  madly  imprudent  to  drag  the  concierge  into 
such  an  affair. 

"  Do  you  want  them  to  know  that  .  .  ."  she 
exclaimed. 

She  pointed  to  the  Angel  and  was  silent. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS   93 

Young  d'Esparvieu  went  out  to  seek  a  clothes- 
shop. 

Meanwhile,  Gilberte,  who  could  not  delay  any 
longer  for  fear  of  causing  a  horrible  society  scandal, 
turned  on  the  light  and  dressed  before  the  Angel. 
She  did  it  without  any  awkwardness,  for  she  knew 
how  to  adapt  herself  to  circumstances ;  and  she 
took  it  that  in  such  an  unheard-of  encounter  in 
which  heaven  and  earth  were  mingled  in  unutter- 
able confusion  it  was  permissible  to  retrench  in 
modesty. 

Moreover  she  knew  that  she  possessed  a  good 
figure  and  had  garments  as  dainty  as  the  fashion 
demanded.  As  the  apparition's  sense  of  delicacy 
would  not  permit  him  to  don  Maurice's  pyjamas, 
Gilberte  could  not  help  observing  by  the  lamp- 
light that  her  suspicions  were  well-founded,  and 
that  angels  have  the  same  appearance  as  men. 
Curious  to  know  if  the  appearance  were  real  or 
imaginary  she  asked  the  child  of  light  if  Angels 
were  like  monkeys,  who,  to  win  women,  merely 
lack  money. 

"  Yes,  Gilberte,"  replied  Arcade,  "  Angels  are 
capable  of  loving  mortals.  It  is  the  teaching  of 
the  Scriptures.  It  is  said  in  the  Seventh  Book  of 
Genesis  l  When  men  became  numerous  on  the  face 
of  the  earth,  and  daughters  were  born  to  them,  the 
sons  of  God  saw  that  the  daughters  of  men  were 


94      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

beautiful,  and  they  took  as  wives  all  those  which 
pleased  them.' ' 

"  Good  heavens,"  cried  Gilberte  all  at  once,  "  I 
shall  never  be  able  to  fasten  my  dress,  it  hooks 
down  the  back." 

When  Maurice  entered  the  room  he  found  the 
Angel  on  his  knees  tying  the  shoes  of  the  woman 
taken  in  ftagrante  delicto. 

Taking  her  muff  and  her  bag  off  the  table  she 
said : 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  anything  ?  No.  Good- 
night, Monsieur  Arcade.  Good-night,  Maurice. 
I  shall  not  forget  to-day."  And  she  vanished  like  a 
dream. 

"  Here,"  said  Maurice,  throwing  the  Angel  a 
bundle  of  clothes. 

The  young  man,  having  seen  some  dismal  rags 
lying  among  clarionettes  and  clyster-pipes  in  the 
window  of  a  second-hand  shop,  had  bought  for 
nineteen  francs  the  cast-off  suit  of  some  wretched 
sable-clad  mortal  who  had  committed  suicide. 
The  Angel,  with  native  majesty,  took  the  garments 
and  put  them  on.  Worn  by  him,  they  took  on  an 
unexpected  elegance.  He  took  a  step  to  the  door. 

"  So  you  are  leaving  me,"  said  Maurice.  "  It's 
settled,  then  ?  I  very  much  fear  that,  some  day, 
you  will  bitterly  regret  this  hasty  action." 

"  I  must  not  look  back.    Adieu,  Maurice." 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      95 

Maurice  timidly  slipped  five  louis  into  his  hand. 

"  Adieu,  Arcade." 

But  when  the  Angel  had  passed  through  the  door, 
and  all  that  was  to  be  seen  of  him  in  the  doorway 
was  his  uplifted  heel,  Maurice  called  him  back. 

"  Arcade  !  I  never  thought  of  it  !  I  have  no 
guardian  angel  now  !  " 

"  Quite  true,  Maurice,  you  have  one  no  longer." 

"  Then  what  will  become  of  me  ?  One  must 
have  a  guardian  angel.  Tell  me, — are  there  not 
grave  drawbacks, — is  there  no  danger  in  not  having 
one  ?  " 

"  Before  replying,  Maurice,  I  must  ask  you  if  you 
wish  me  to  speak  to  you  according  to  your  belief, 
which  formerly  was  my  own,  according  to  the 
teaching  of  the  Church  and  the  Catholic  faith,  or 
according  to  natural  philosophy." 

"  I  don't  care  a  straw  for  your  natural  philosophy. 
Answer  me  according  to  the  religion  I  believe  in, 
and  which  I  profess,  and  in  which  I  wish  to  live  and 
die." 

'  Very  well,  my  dear  Maurice.  The  loss  of  your 
guardian  angel  will  probably  deprive  you  of  certain 
spiritual  succour,  of  certain  celestial  grace.  I  am 
expressing  to  you  the  unvarying  opinion  of  the 
Church  on  the  matter.  You  will  lack  an  assistance, 
a  support,  a  consolation  which  would  have  guided 
and  confirmed  you  in  the  way  of  salvation.  You 


96      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

will  have  less  strength  to  avoid  sin,  and,  as  it  was, 
you  hadn't  much.  In  fact,  in  spiritual  matters,  you 
will  be  without  strength  and  without  joy.  Adieu, 
Maurice ;  when  you  see  Madame  des  Aubels, 
please  remember  me  to  her." 

"  You  are  going  ?  " 

"  Farewell." 

Arcade  disappeared  and  Maurice  in  the  depths 
of  an  arm-chair  sat  for  a  long  time  with  his  head  in 
his  hands. 


CHAPTER  XII 

WHEREIN  IT  IS  SET  FORTH  HOW  THE  ANGEL  MIRAR, 
WHEN  BEARING  GRACE  AND  CONSOLATION  TO 
THOSE  DWELLING  IN  THE  NEIGHBOURHOOD  OF 
THE  CHAMPS  ELYSEES  IN  PARIS,  BEHELD  A  MUSIC- 
HALL  SINGER  NAMED  BOUCHOTTE  AND  FELL  IN 
LOVE  WITH  HER 

HROUGH  streets  filled  with  brown 
fog,  pierced  with  white  and  yellow 
lights,  where  horses  exhaled  their 
smoking  breath  and  motors  radiated 
their  rapid  search-lights,  the  angel 
made  his  way,  and,  mingling  with  the  black  flood 
of  foot-passengers  which  rolled  unceasingly  along, 
proceeded  across  the  town  from  north  to  south  till 
he  came  to  the  lonely  boulevards  on  the  left  bank 
of  the  river.  Not  far  from  the  old  walls  of  Port 
Royal,  a  small  restaurant  flings  night  by  night 
athwart  the  pavement  the  clouded  rays  of  its 
streaming  windows.  Coming  to  a  halt  there, 
Arcade  entered  a  room  full  of  warm,  savoury  odours, 
pleasing  to  the  unfortunate  beings  faint  with  cold 
and  hunger.  Glancing  round  him  he  beheld 
Russian  Nihilists,  Italian  Anarchists,  refugees,  con- 

97 


98      THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

spirators,  revolutionaries  from  every  quarter  of  the 
globe,  picturesque  old  faces  with  tumbled  masses 
of  hair  and  beard  that  swept  downwards  even  as  the 
torrent  and  the  waterfall  sweep  over  their  rocky 
bed.  There  were  young  faces  of  virginal  coldness, 
expressions  sombre  and  wild,  pale  eyes  of  infinite 
sweetness,  drawn  faces,  and,  in  a  corner,  there  were 
two  Russian  women,  one  extremely  lovely,  the 
other  hideous,  but  both  resembling  each  other  in 
their  indifference  to  ugliness  and  to  beauty.  But 
failing  to  find  the  face  he  sought,  for  there  were 
no  angels  in  the  room,  he  sat  down  at  a  small 
vacant  marble  table. 

Angels,  when  driven  by  hunger,  eat  as  do  the 
animals  of  this  earth,  and  their  food,  transformed 
by  digestive  heat,  becomes  one  with  their  celestial 
substance.  Seeing  three  angels  under  the  oaks  of 
Mamre,  Abraham  offered  them  cakes,  kneaded  by 
Sarah,  a  whole  calf,  butter  and  milk,  and  they  ate. 
Lot,  on  receiving  two  angels  in  his  house,  ordered 
unleavened  bread  to  be  baked,  and  they  did  eat. 
Arcade  was  given  a  tough  beef -steak  by  a  seedy 
waiter  and  he  did  eat.  Nevertheless,  his  dreams 
were  of  the  sweet  leisure,  of  the  repose,  of  the 
delightful  studies  he  had  quitted,  of  the  heavy  task 
he  had  undertaken,  of  the  toil,  the  weariness,  the 
perils  which  he  would  have  to  endure,  and  his  soul 
was  sad  and  his  heart  troubled. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      99 

As  he  was  finishing  his  modest  repast,  a  young 
man  of  poor  appearance  and  thinly  clad  entered  the 
room,  and  rapidly  surveying  the  tables  approached 
the  angel  and  greeted  him  by  the  name  of  Abdiel, 
because  he  himself  was  a  celestial  spirit. 

"  I  knew  you  would  answer  my  call,  Mirar," 
replied  Arcade,  addressing  his  angelic  brother  in  his 
turn  by  the  name  he  formerly  bore  in  heaven.  But 
Mirar  was  remembered  no  more  in  heaven  since  he, 
an  Archangel,  had  left  the  service  of  God.  He  was 
called  Theophile  Belais  on  earth,  and  to  earn  his 
bread  gave  music  lessons  to  small  children  in  the 
day-time  and  at  night  played  the  violin  in  dancing 
saloons. 

"  It  is  you,  dear  Abdiel  ?  "  replied  Theophile. 
"  So  here  we  are  reunited  in  this  sad  world.  I  am 
pleased  to  see  you  again.  All  the  same  I  pity  you, 
for  we  lead  a  hard  life  here." 

But  Arcade  answered : 

'  Friend,  your  exile  draws  to  an  end.  I  have 
great  plans.  I  will  confide  them  to  you  and  associate 
you  with  them." 

And  Maurice's  guardian  angel,  having  ordered 
two  coffees,  revealed  his  ideas  and  his  projects  to 
his  companion  :  he  told  how,  during  his  visit  on 
earth  he  had  abandoned  himself  to  researches  little 
practised  by  celestial  spirits  and  had  studied 
theologies,  cosmogonies,  the  system  of  the  Universe, 


ioo    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

theories  of  matter,  modern  essays  on  the  transform- 
ation and  loss  of  energy.  Having,  he  explained, 
studied  Nature,  he  had  found  her  in  perpetual 
conflict  with  the  teachings  of  the  Master  he  served. 
This  Master,  greedy  of  praise,  whom  he  had  for  a 
long  time  adored,  appeared  to  him  now  as  an 
ignorant,  stupid,  and  cruel  tyrant.  He  had  denied 
Him,  blasphemed  Him  and  was  burning  to  combat 
Him.  His  plan  was  to  recommence  the  revolt  of 
the  angels.  He  wished  for  war,  and  hoped  for 
victory. 

"  But,"  he  added,  "  it  is  necessary  above  all  to 
know  our  strength  and  that  of  our  adversary." 
And  he  asked  if  the  enemies  of  laldabaoth  were 
numerous  and  powerful  on  earth. 

Theophile  looked  wonderingly  at  his  brother. 
He  appeared  not  to  understand  the  questions 
addressed  him. 

"  Dear  compatriot,"  he  said,  "  I  came  at  your 
invitation  because  it  was  the  invitation  of  an  old 
comrade.  But  I  do  not  know  what  you  expect  of 
me,  and  I  fear  I  shall  be  unable  to  help  you  in 
anything.  I  take  no  hand  in  politics,  neither  do  I 
stand  forth  as  a  reformer.  I  am  not  like  you,  a 
spirit  in  revolt,  a  free-thinker,  a  revolutionary.  I 
remain  faithful,  in  the  depths  of  my  soul,  to  the 
Celestial  Creator.  I  still  adore  the  Master  I  no 
longer  serve,  and  I  lament  the  days  when  shrouding 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    101 

myself  with  my  wings  I  formed  with  the  multitude 
of  the  children  of  light  a  wheel  of  flame  around 
His  throne  of  glory.  Love,  profane  love,  has  alone 
separated  me  from  God.  I  quitted  heaven  to  follow 
a  daughter  of  men.  She  was  beautiful  and  sang  in 
music-halls." 

They  rose.  Arcade  accompanied  Theophile, 
who  was  living  at  the  other  end  of  the  town,  at  the 
corner  of  the  Boulevard  Rochechouart  and  the  Rue 
de  Steinkerque.  While  walking  through  the  deserted 
streets  he  who  loved  the  singer  told  his  brother  of 
his  love  and  his  sorrows. 

His  fall,  which  dated  from  two  years  back,  had 
been  sudden.  Belonging  to  the  eighth  choir  of  the 
third  hierarchy  he  was  a  bearer  of  grace  to  the 
faithful  who  are  still  to  be  found  in  large  numbers 
in  France,  especially  among  the  higher  ranks  of  the 
officers  of  the  army  and  navy. 

"  One  summer  night,"  he  said,  "  as  I  was  descend- 
ing from  Heaven,  to  distribute  consolations,  the 
grace  of  perseverance  and  of  good  deaths  to  divers 
pious  persons  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Etoile, 
my  eyes,  although  well  accustomed  to  immortal 
light,  were  dazzled  by  the  fiery  flowers  with  which 
the  Champs  Elysees  were  sown.  Great  candelabra, 
under  the  trees,  marking  the  entrances  to  cafes  and 
restaurants,  gave  the  foliage  the  precious  glitter 
of  an  emerald.  Long  garlands  of  luminous  pearl 


102    THE   REVOLT  OF   THE  ANGELS 

surrounded  the  open-air  enclosures  where  a  crowd  of 
men  and  women  sat  closely  packed  listening  to  the 
sounds  of  a  lively  orchestra,  whose  strains  reached 
my  ears  confusedly. 

"  The  night  was  warm,  my  wings  were  beginning 
to  grow  tired.  I  descended  into  one  of  the  concerts 
and  sat  down,  invisible,  among  the  audience.  At 
this  moment,  a  woman  appeared  on  the  stage,  clad 
in  a  short  spangled  frock.  Owing  to  the  reflection 
of  the  footlights  and  the  paint  on  her  face  all  that 
was  visible  of  the  latter  was  the  expression  and  the 
smile.  Her  body  was  supple  and  voluptuous. 

"She  sang  and  danced.  .  .  .  Arcade,  I  have  always 
loved  dancing  and  music,  but  this  creature's 
thrilling  voice  and  insidious  movements  created  in 
me  an  uneasiness  I  had  never  known  before.  My 
colour  came  and  went.  My  eyelids  drooped,  my 
tongue  clove  to  my  mouth.  I  could  not  leave  the 
spot." 

And  Theophile  related,  groaning,  how,  possessed 
by  desire  for  this  woman,  he  did  not  return  to 
Heaven  again,  but,  taking  the  shape  of  a  man, 
lived  an  earthly  life,  for  it  is  written :  "  In  those 
days  the  sons  of  God  saw  that  the  daughters  of  men 
were  beautiful." 

A  fallen  angel,  having  lost  his  innocence  along 
with  the  vision  of  God,  Theophile  at  heart  still 
retained  his  simplicity  of  soul.  Clad  in  rags, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    103 

filched  from  the  stall  of  a  Jewish  hawker,  he  went 
to  seek  the  woman  he  loved.  She  was  called  Bou- 
chotte  and  lodged  in  a  small  house  in  Montmartre. 
He  flung  himself  at  her  feet  and  told  her  she  was 
adorable,  that  she  sang  delightfully,  that  he  loved 
her  madly,  that,  for  her,  he  would  renounce  his 
family  and  his  country,  that  he  was  a  musician  and 
had  nothing  to  eat.  Touched  by  such  youthful 
ingenuousness,  candour,  poverty  and  love,  she  fed, 
clothed  and  loved  him. 

However,  after  long  and  painful  struggles,  he 
procured  employment  as  a  music-teacher,  and 
made  some  money,  which  he  brought  to  his  mistress, 
keeping  nothing  for  himself.  From  that  time  for- 
ward she  loved  him  no  longer.  She  despised  him  for 
earning  so  little  and  did  not  conceal  her  indifference, 
weariness  and  disgust.  She  overwhelmed  him  with 
reproaches,  irony  and  abuse,  in  spite  of  which  she 
kept  him,  for  she  had  had  experience  of  worse 
partners  and  was  used  to  domestic  quarrels.  For 
the  rest,  she  led  a  busy,  serious  and  rather  hard  life 
as  artist  and  woman.  Theophile  loved  her  as  he 
had  loved  her  the  first  night,  and  he  suffered. 

"  She  overworks  herself,"  he  told  his  celestial 
brother,  "  that  is  what  makes  her  so  hard  to  please, 
but  I  am  certain  she  loves  me.  I  hope  soon  to  give 
her  more  comfort." 

And  he  spoke  at  length  of  an  operetta  at  which  he 


104    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

was  working  and  which  he  hoped  to  have  brought 
out  at  a  Paris  theatre.  A  young  poet  had  given  him 
the  libretto.  It  was  the  story  of  Aline,  queen  of 
Golconda,  after  an  eighteenth-century  tale. 

"  I  am  strewing  it  profusely  with  melodies,"  said 
Theophile,  "  my  music  comes  from  my  heart.  My 
heart  is  an  inexhaustible  source  of  melody.  Un- 
fortunately nowadays  people  like  recondite  arrange- 
ments, difficult  scoring.  They  accuse  me  of  being 
too  fluid,  too  limpid,  of  not  imparting  enough  colour 
to  my  style,  not  aiming  at  stronger  effects  in  har- 
mony and  more  vigorous  contrasts.  Harmony, 
harmony  !  .  .  .  No  doubt  it  has  its  merits,  but  it 
does  not  appeal  to  the  heart.  It  is  melody  which 
carries  us  away  and  ravishes  us  and  brings  smiles  and 
tears  to  our  eyes."  At  these  words  he  smiled  and 
wept  to  himself.  Then  he  continued  with  emotion. 

"  I  am  a  fountain  of  melody.  But  the  orchestra- 
tion !  there's  the  rub  !  In  Paradise,  you  know, 
Arcade,  in  the  matter  of  instruments,  we  only 
possess  the  harp,  the  psaltery  and  the  hydraulic 
organ." 

Arcade  was  only  listening  to  him  with  half  an  ear. 
He  was  meditating  plans  which  filled  his  soul  and 
swelled  his  heart. 

"  Do  you  know  any  angels  in  revolt  ?  "  he  asked 
his  companion.  "  As  for  me,  I  know  only  one, 
Prince  Istar,  with  whom  I  have  exchanged  a  few 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     105 

letters  and  who  offered  to  share  his  attic  with  me 
while  I  was  finding  a  lodging  in  this  town,  where  I 
believe  rents  are  very  high." 

Of  angels  in  revolt  Theophile  knew  none.  When 
he  met  a  fallen  spirit  who  had  formerly  been  one 
of  his  comrades  he  shook  him  by  the  hand,  for  he 
was  a  faithful  friend.  Sometimes  he  saw  Prince 
Istar.  But  he  avoided  all  those  bad  angels  who 
shocked  him  by  the  violence  of  their  opinions  and 
whose  conversations  plagued  him  to  death. 

"  Then  you  don't  approve  of  me  ?  "  asked  the 
impulsive  Arcade. 

"  Friend,  I  neither  approve  of  you  nor  blame 
you.  I  understand  nothing  of  the  ideas  which 
trouble  you.  Neither  do  I  think  it  good  for  an 
artist  to  concern  himself  with  politics.  One  has 
quite  sufficient  to  occupy  oneself  with  one's  art."' 

He  loved  his  profession,  and  had  hopes  of 
"  arriving  "  one  day,  but  theatrical  ways  disgusted 
him.  The  only  chance  he  saw  of  having  his  piece 
played  was  to  take  one  or  two — perhaps  three — 
collaborators,  who,  without  having  done  any  work, 
would  sign  their  names  and  share  the  profits. 
Soon  Bouchotte  would  fail  to  find  engagements. 
When  she  offered  her  services  in  some  small  hall  the 
manager  began  by  asking  her  how  many  shares  she 
was  taking  in  the  business.  Such  customs,  thought 
Theophile,  were  deplorable. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WHEREIN  WE  HEAR  THE  BEAUTIFUL  ARCHANGEL  ZITA 
UNFOLD  HER  LOFTY  DESIGNS  AND  ARE  SHOWN 
THE  WINGS  OF  MIRAR,  ALL  MOTH-EATEN,  IN  A 
CUPBOARD 


HUS  talking,  the  two  archangels 
had  reached  the  Boulevard  Roche- 
chouart.  As  his  eye  lighted  on  a 
tavern,  whence,  through  the  mist, 
the  light  fell  golden  on  the  pave- 
ment, Theophile  suddenly  bethought  himself  of 
the  Archangel  Ithuriel  who,  in  the  guise  of  a 
poor  but  beautiful  woman,  was  living  in  wretched 
lodgings  on  la  Butte  and  came  every  evening  to 
read  the  papers  at  this  tavern.  The  musician  often 
met  her  there.  Her  name  was  Zita.  Theophile 
had  never  been  curious  enough  to  enquire  into  the 
opinions  entertained  by  this  archangel,  but  it  was 
generally  supposed  that  she  was  a  Russian  nihilist, 
and  he  took  her  to  be,  like  Arcade,  an  atheist  and  a 
revolutionary.  He  had  heard  remarkable  tales 
about  her.  People  said  she  was  ari  hermaphrodite, 
and  that  as  the  active  and  passive  principles  were 

106 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    107 

united  within  her  in  a  condition  of  stable  equili- 
brium, she  was  an  example  of  a  perfect  being, 
finding  in  herself  complete  and  continuous  satis- 
faction, contented  yet  unfortunate  in  that  she 
knew  not  desire. 

"  But,"  added  Theophile,  "  I  have  my  doubts 
about  it.  I  believe  she's  a  woman  and  subject 
to  love,  like  everything  else  that  has  life  and  breath 
in  the  Universe.  Besides,  someone  caught  her  one 
day  kissing  her  hand  to  a  strapping  peasant  fellow." 

He  offered  to  introduce  his  companion  to  her. 

The  two  angels  found  her  alone,  reading.  As 
they  drew  near  she  lifted  her  great  eyes  in  whose 
deeps  of  molten  gold  little  sparks  of  light  were  for 
ever  a-dance.  Her  brows  were  contracted  into  that 
austere  fold  which  we  see  on  the  forehead  of  the 
Pythian  Apollo  ;  her  nose  was  perfect  and  descended 
without  a  curve  ;  her  lips  were  compressed  and 
imparted  a  disdainful  and  supercilious  air  to  her 
whole  countenance.  Her  tawny  hair,  with  its 
gleaming  lights,  was  carelessly  adorned  with  the 
tattered  remnants  of  a  huge  bird  of  prey,  her 
garments  lay  about  her  in  dark  and  shapeless  folds. 
She  was  leaning  her  chin  on  a  small  ill-tended 
hand. 

Arcade,  who  had  but  recently  heard  references 
made  to  this  powerful  archangel,  showed  her  marked 
esteem,  and  placed  entire  confidence  in  her.  He 
H 


108    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

immediately  proceeded  to  tell  of  the  progress  his 
mind  had  made  towards  knowledge  and  liberty,  of 
his  lucubrations  in  the  d'Esparvieu  library,  of  his 
philosophical  reading,  his  studies  of  nature,  his 
works  on  exegesis,  his  anger  and  his  contempt  when 
he  recognised  the  deception  of  the  demiurge,  his 
voluntary  exile  among  mankind,  and,  finally,  of  his 
project  to  stir  up  rebellion  in  Heaven.  Ready  to 
dare  all  against  an  odious  master,  whom  he  pursued 
with  inextinguishable  hatred,  he  expressed  his 
profound  happiness  at  finding  in  Ithuriel  a  mind 
capable  of  counselling  and  helping  him  in  his  great 
undertaking. 

"  You  are  not  a  very  old  hand  at  revolutions," 
said  Zita,  smiling. 

Nevertheless,  she  doubted  neither  his  sincerity, 
nor  the  firmness  of  his  declared  resolve,  and  she 
congratulated  him  on  his  intellectual  audacity. 

"  That  is  what  is  most  lacking  in  our  people," 
she  said,  "  they  do  not  think." 

And  she  added  almost  immediately :  "  But  on 
what  can  intelligence  sharpen  its  wits,  in  a  country 
where  the  climate  is  soft  and  existence  made  easy  ? 
Even  here,  where  necessity  calls  for  intellectual 
activity,  nothing  is  rarer  than  a  person  who 
thinks." 

"  Nevertheless,"  replied  Maurice's  guardian 
angel,  "  Man  has  created  science.  The  important 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    109 

thing  is  to  introduce  it  into  Heaven.  When  the 
angels  possess  some  notions  of  physics,  chemistry, 
astronomy  and  physiology;  when  the  study  of 
matter  shows  them  worlds  in  an  atom,  and  an  atom 
in  the  myriads  of  planets ;  when  they  see  them- 
selves lost  between  these  two  infinities ;  when  they 
weigh  and  measure  the  stars,  analyse  their  com- 
position, and  calculate  their  orbits,  they  will  recog- 
nise that  these  monsters  work  in  obedience  to 
forces  which  no  intelligence  can  define,  or  that 
each  star  has  its  particular  divinity,  or  indigenous 
god  ;  and  they  will  realise  that  the  gods  of  Aldebaran, 
Betelgeuse,  and  Sirius  are  greater  than  laldabaoth. 
When  at  length  they  come  to  scrutinise  with  care 
the  little  world  in  which  their  lot  is  cast,  and, 
piercing  the  crust  of  the  earth,  note  the  gradual 
evolution  of  its  flora  and  fauna  and  the  rude  origin 
of  man,  who,  under  the  shelter  of  rocks  and  in 
cave  dwellings,  had  no  God  but  himself ;  when 
they  discover  that  united  by  the  bonds  of  universal 
kinship  to  plants,  beasts  and  men,  they  have  suc- 
cessively indued  all  forms  of  organic  life,  from  the 
simplest  and  the  most  primitive,  until  they  became 
at  length  the  most  beautiful  of  the  children  of 
light,  they  will  perceive  that  laldabaoth,  the  obscure 
demon  of  an  insignificant  world  lost  in  space,  is 
imposing  on  their  credulity  when  he  pretends 
that  they  issued  from  nothingness  at  his  bidding  ; 


i  io    THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

they  will  perceive  that  he  lies  in  calling  himself 
the  Infinite,  the  Eternal,  the  Almighty,  and  that, 
so  far  from  having  created  worlds,  he  knows  neither 
their  number  nor  their  laws.  They  will  perceive 
that  he  is  like  unto  one  of  them ;  they  will  despise 
him,  and,  shaking  off  his  tyranny,  will  fling  him 
into  the  Gehenna  where  he  has  hurled  those  more 
worthy  than  himself." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  "  murmured  Zita,  puffing 
out  the  smoke  of  her  cigarette  ..."  Nevertheless, 
this  knowledge  by  virtue  of  which  you  reckon  to 
enfranchise  Heaven,  has  not  destroyed  religious 
sentiment  on  earth.  In  countries  where  they 
have  set  up  and  taught  this  science  of  physics,  of 
chemistry,  astronomy  and  geology,  which  you 
think  capable  of  delivering  the  world,  Christianity 
has  retained  almost  all  its  sway.  If  the  positive 
sciences  have  had  such  a  feeble  influence  on  the 
beliefs  of  mankind,  it  is  not  likely  they  will  exercise 
a  greater  one  on  the  opinions  of  the  angels,  and 
nothing  is  of  such  dubious  efficacy  as  scientific 
propaganda." 

"  What  !  "  exclaimed  Arcade,  "  you  deny  that 
Science  has  given  the  Church  its  death-blow  ?  Is 
it  possible  ?  The  Church,  at  any  rate,  judges 
otherwise.  Science,  which  you  believe  has  no 
power  over  her,  is  redoubtable  to  her,  since  she 
proscribes  it.  From  Galileo's  dialogues  to  Monsieur 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     in 

Aulard's  little  manuals  she  has  condemned  all  its 
discoveries.  And  not  without  reason. 

"  In  former  days,  when  she  gathered  within  her 
fold  all  that  was  great  in  human  thought,  the 
Church  held  sway  over  the  bodies  as  well  as  over 
the  souls  of  men,  and  imposed  unity  of  obedience 
by  fire  and  sword.  To-day  her  power  is  but  a 
shadow  and  the  elect  among  the  great  minds  have 
withdrawn  from  her.  That  is  the  state  to  which 
Science  has  reduced  her." 

"  Possibly,"  replied  the  beautiful  archangel, 
"  but  how  slowly,  with  what  vicissitudes,  at  the 
price  of  what  efforts,  of  what  sacrifices  !  " 

Zita  did  not  absolutely  condemn  scientific  propa- 
ganda, but  she  anticipated  no  prompt  or  certain 
results  from  it.  For  her  it  was  not  so  much  a 
question  of  enlightening  the  angels ;  the  important 
thing  was  to  enfranchise  them.  In  her  opinion 
one  only  exerted  a  strong  influence  on  individuals, 
whoever  they  might  be,  by  rousing  their  passions, 
and  appealing  to  their  interests. 

"  Persuade  the  angels  that  they  will  cover  them- 
selves with  glory  by  overthrowing  the  tyrant, 
and  that  they  will  be  happier  once  they  are  free  ; 
that  is  the  most  practical  policy  to  attempt,  and, 
for  my  own  part,  I  am  devoting  all  my  energies 
to  its  fulfilment.  It  is  certainly  no  light  task, 
because  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  a  military 


ii2     THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

autocracy  and  there  is  no  public  opinion  in  it. 
Nevertheless,  I  do  not  despair  of  starting  an  in- 
tellectual movement.  I  do  not  wish  to  boast, 
but  no  one  is  more  closely  acquainted  than  I  with 
the  different  classes  of  angelic  society." 

Throwing  away  her  cigarette  Zita  pondered 
for  a  moment,  then,  amid  the  click  of  ivory  balls 
on  the  billiard  table,  the  clinking  of  glasses,  the 
curt  voices  of  the  players  announcing  their  points, 
the  monotonous  answers  of  the  waiters  to  their 
customers,  the  Archangel  enumerated  the  entire 
population  of  the  spirits  of  light. 

"  We  must  not  count  on  the  Dominations,  the 
Virtues,  nor  the  Powers,  which  compose  the  celestial 
lower  middle-class.  I  have  no  need  to  tell  you, 
for  you  know  it  as  well  as  I,  how  selfish,  base  and 
cowardly  the  middle-classes  are.  As  to  the  great 
dignitaries,  the  Ministers,  the  Generals,  Thrones, 
Cherubim  and  Seraphim,  you  know  what  they  are  ; 
they  will  take  no  action.  Let  us,  however,  once 
prove  ourselves  the  stronger,  and  we  shall  have 
them  with  us.  For  if  autocrats  do  not  readily 
acquiesce  in  their  own  downfall,  once  overthrown, 
all  their  forces  recoil  upon  themselves.  It  will  be 
well  to  work  the  Army.  Entirely  loyal  as  the  Army 
is,  it  will  allow  itself  to  be  influenced  by  a  clever 
anarchist  propaganda.  But  our  greatest  and  most 
constant  efforts  ought  to  be  brought  to  bear  upon 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    113 

the  angels  of  your  own  category,  Arcade ;  the 
guardian  angels,  who  dwell  upon  earth  in  such 
great  numbers.  They  fill  the  lowest  ranks  of  the 
hierarchy,  are  for  the  most  part  discontented  with 
their  lot,  and  more  or  less  imbued  with  the  ideas 
of  the  present  century." 

She  had  already  conferred  with  the  guardian 
angels  of  Montmartre,  Clignancourt  and  Filles-du- 
Calvaire.  She  had  devised  the  plan  of  a  vast 
association  of  Spirits  on  Earth  with  the  view  of 
conquering  Heaven. 

"  To  accomplish  this  task,"  she  said,  "  I  have 
established  myself  in  France.  But  not  because  I 
had  the  folly  to  believe  myself  freer  in  a  republic 
than  in  a  monarchy.  Quite  the  contrary,  for  there 
is  no  country  where  the  liberty  of  the  individual 
is  less  respected  than  in  France.  But  the  people 
are  indifferent  to  everything  connected  with  re- 
ligion ;  nowhere  else,  therefore,  should  I  enjoy 
such  tranquillity." 

She  invited  Arcade  to  unite  his  efforts  to  hers, 
and  when  they  separated  at  the  door  of  the  brasserie 
the  steel  shutter  was  already  making  its  groaning 
descent. 

"  Above  all,"  said  Zita,  "  you  must  meet  the 
gardener.  I  will  take  you  to  his  rustic  home  one 
day." 

Theophile,  who  had  slumbered  during  all  this 


ii4    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

talk,  begged  his  friend  to  come  home  with  him  and 
smoke  a  cigarette.  He  lived  quite  near  in  the  small 
street  opposite,  leading  off  the  Boulevard.  Arcade 
would  see  Bouchotte,  she  would  please  him. 

They  climbed  up  five  nights  of  stairs.  Bouchotte 
had  not  yet  returned.  A  tin  of  sardines  lay  open 
on  the  piano.  Red  stockings  coiled  about  the 
arm-chairs. 

"  It's  a  little  place,  but  it's  comfortable,"  said 
Theophile. 

And  gazing  out  of  the  window  which  looked  out 
on  the  russet-coloured  night,  with  its  myriad  lights, 
he  added,  "  One  can  see  the  Sacre  Cceur"  His 
hand  on  Arcade's  shoulder  he  repeated  several 
times,  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

Then  dragging  his  former  companion  in  glory 
into  the  kitchen  passage  he  put  down  his  candle- 
stick, drew  a  key  from  his  pocket,  opened  a  cupboard, 
and  raising  a  linen  covering  disclosed  two  large 
white  wings. 

"  You  see,"  he  said,  "  I  have  preserved  them. 
From  time  to  time,  when  I  am  alone,  I  go  and  look 
at  them  ;  it  does  me  good." 

And  he  dabbed  his  reddened  eyes.  He  stood 
awhile  overcome  by  silent  emotion.  Then  holding 
the  candle  near  the  long  pinions  which  were 
moulting  their  down  in  places,  he  murmured, 
"  They  are  eaten  away." 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      115 

"  You  must  put  some  pepper  on  them,"  said 
Arcade. 

"  I  have  done  so,"  replied  the  angelic  musician 
sighing.  "  I  have  put  pepper,  camphor  and  powder 
on  them.  But  nothing  does  any  good." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WHICH  REVEALS  THE  CHERUB  TOILING  FOR  THE 
WELFARE  OF  HUMANITY  AND  CONCLUDES  IN  AN 
ENTIRELY  NOVEL  MANNER  WITH  THE  MIRACLE  OF 
THE  FLUTE 


HE  first  night  of  his  incarnation 
Arcade  slept  at  the  angel  Istar's, 
in  a  garret  in  that  narrow,  gloomy 
Rue  Mazarine  which  wallows  along 
beneath  the  shadow  of  the  old 
Institute  of  France.  Istar,  who  had  been  expecting 
him,  had  pushed  against  the  wall  the  shattered 
retorts,  cracked  pots,  broken  bottles  and  odds  and 
ends  of  iron  stoves  which  made  up  the  furniture  of 
his  room  and  spread  his  clothes  on  the  floor  to  lie 
on,  leaving  his  guest  his  folding-bed  with  its  straw 
mattress. 

The  celestial  spirits  differ  from  one  another  in 
appearance  according  to  the  hierarchy  and  the  choir 
to  which  they  belong,  and  according  to  their  own 
particular  nature.  They  are  all  beautiful ;  but  in 
different  fashion,  and  they  do  not  all  offer  to  the 
eye  the  soft  contours  and  dimpling  smiles  of  child- 
hood with  its  rosy  lights  and  pearly  tints.  Nor  do 

116 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     117 

they  all  adorn  themselves  with  eternal  youth, 
that  indefinable  beauty  that  Greek  art  in  its  decline 
has  imparted  to  its  most  lovingly  handled  marbles, 
and  whereof  Christian  painters  have  so  often 
timidly  essayed  to  give  us  veiled  and  softened 
imitations.  In  some  of  them  the  chin  glows  with 
tufts  of  hair,  and  the  limbs  are  furnished  with  such 
vigorous  muscles  that  it  seems  as  if  serpents  were 
writhing  beneath  the  skin.  Some  have  no  wings, 
others  possess  two,  four  or  six  ;  others  again  are 
formed  entirely  of  conjoined  pinions.  Many,  and 
these  not  the  least  illustrious,  take  the  form  of 
superb  monsters,  such  as  the  Centaurs  of  fable  ; 
nay,  one  may  even  see  some  who  are  living  chariots, 
and  wheels  of  fire.  A  member  of  the  highest 
celestial  hierarchy,  Istar  belonged  to  the  choir  of 
Cherubim  or  Kerubs  who  see  above  them  the 
Seraphim  alone.  In  common  with  all  the  angelic 
spirits  of  his  rank  he  had  formerly  borne  in  Heaven 
the  bodily  shape  of  a  winged  bull  surmounted  by 
the  head  of  a  horned  and  bearded  man,  and  carrying 
between  his  loins  the  attributes  of  generous 
fecundity.  He  was  vaster  and  more  vigorous  than 
any  animal  on  earth,  and  when  he  stood  erect  with 
outspread  wings  he  covered  with  his  shadow  sixty 
archangels. 

Such  was  Istar  in  his  native  home.     There  he 
radiated  strength  and  sweetness.     His  heart  was 


ii8    THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

full  of  courage  and  his  soul  benevolent.  More- 
over in  those  days  he  loved  his  lord.  He  believed 
him  to  be  good  and  yielded  him  faithful  service. 
But  even  while  guarding  the  portals  of  his  Master, 
he  used  to  ponder  unceasingly  on  the  punishment  of 
the  rebellious  angels  and  the  curse  of  Eve.  His 
mind  worked  slowly  but  profoundly.  When  after 
a  long  course  of  centuries  he  persuaded  himself 
that  laldabaoth  in  creating  the  world  had  created 
evil  and  death,  he  ceased  to  adore  and  to  serve 
him.  His  love  changed  to  hatred,  his  veneration  to 
contempt.  He  shouted  his  execrations  in  his  face, 
and  fled  to  earth. 

Embodied  in  human  form  and  reduced  to  the 
stature  of  the  sons  of  Adam,  he  still  retained  some 
characteristics  of  his  former  nature.  His  big 
protruding  eyes,  his  beaked  nose,  his  thick  lips 
framed  in  a  black  beard  which  descended  in  curls 
on  to  his  chest  recalled  those  Cherubs  of  the  taber- 
nacle of  lahveh,  of  which  the  bulls  of  Nineveh 
afford  us  a  pretty  accurate  representation.  He 
bore  the  name  of  Istar  on  earth  as  well  as  in  Heaven, 
and  although  exempt  from  vanity  and  free  from  all 
social  prejudice,  he  was  immensely  desirous  of 
showing  himself  sincere  and  truthful  in  all  things. 
He  therefore  proclaimed  the  illustrious  rank  in 
which  his  birth  had  placed  him  in  the  celestial 
hierarchy  and  translated  into  French  his  title  of 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     119 

Cherub  by  the  equivalent  one  of  Prince,  calling 
himself  Prince  Istar.  Seeking  shelter  among  man- 
kind he  had  developed  an  ardent  love  for  them. 
While  awaiting  the  coming  of  the  hour  when  he 
should  deliver  Heaven  from  bondage,  he  dreamed  of 
the  salvation  of  regenerate  humanity  and  was  eager 
to  consummate  the  destruction  of  this  wicked  world, 
in  order  to  raise  upon  its  ashes,  to  the  sound  of  the 
lyre,  a  city  radiant  with  happiness  and  love.  A 
chemist  in  the  pay  of  a  dealer  in  nitrates,  he  lived 
very  frugally.  He  wrote  for  newspapers  with 
advanced  views  on  liberty,  spoke  at  public  meetings, 
and  had  got  himself  sentenced  several  times  to 
several  months'  imprisonment  for  anti-militarism. 

Istar  greeted  his  brother  Arcade  cordially,  ap- 
proved of  his  rupture  with  the  party  of  crime,  and 
informed  him  of  the  descent  of  fifty  of  the  children 
of  light  who,  at  the  present  moment,  formed  a 
colony  near  Val  de  Grace,  imbued  with  a  really 
excellent  spirit. 

"  It  is  simply  raining  angels  in  Paris,"  he  said, 
laughing.  "  Every  day  some  dignitary  of  the  sacred 
palace  falls  on  one's  head,  and  soon  the  Sultan  of 
the  Cherubs  will  have  no  one  to  make  into  Vizirs  or 
guards  but  the  little  unbreeched  vagabonds  of  his 
pigeon  coops." 

Soothed  by  the  good  news,  Arcade  fell  asleep, 
full  of  happiness  and  hope. 


120    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

He  awoke  in  the  early  dawn  and  saw  Prince  Istar 
bending  over  his  furnaces,  his  retorts  and  his  test 
tubes.  Prince  Istar  was  working  for  the  good  of 
humanity. 

Every  morning  when  Arcade  woke  he  saw  Prince 
Istar  fulfilling  his  work  of  tenderness  and  love. 
Sometimes  the  Kerub,  huddled  up  with  his  head  in 
his  hands,  would  softly  murmur  a  few  chemical 
formulas ;  at  others,  drawing  himself  up  to  his  full 
height,  like  a  dark  naked  column,  with  his  head, 
his  arms,  nay,  his  entire  bust  clean  out  of  the  sky- 
light window,  he  would  deposit  his  melting-pot 
on  the  roof,  fearing  the  perquisition  with  which 
he  was  constantly  menaced.  Moved  by  an  immense 
pity  for  the  miseries  of  the  world  wherein  he  dwelt 
in  exile,  conscious  perhaps  of  the  rumours  to  which 
his  name  gave  rise,  inebriated  with  his  own  virtue, 
he  played  the  part  of  apostle  to  the  Human  Race, 
and  neglecting  the  task  he  had  undertaken  in 
coming  to  earth,  he  forgot  all  about  the  emanci- 
pation of  the  angels.  Arcade,  who,  on  the  contrary, 
dreamt  of  nothing  else  but  of  conquering  Heaven 
and  returning  thither  in  triumph,  reproached  the 
Cherub  with  forgetting  his  native  land. 

Prince  Istar,  with  a  great,  frank,  uncouth  laugh, 
acknowledged  that  he  had  no  preference  for  angels 
over  men. 

"  If  I  am  doing  my  best,"  he  replied  to  his 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    121 

celestial  brother,  "  if  I  am  doing  my  best  to  stir 
up  France  and  Europe,  it  is  because  the  day  is 
dawning  which  will  behold  the  triumph  of  the 
social  revolution.  It  is  a  pleasure  to  cast  one's  seed 
on  ground  so  well  prepared.  The  French  having 
passed  from  feudalism  to  monarchy,  and  from 
monarchy  to  a  financial  oligarchy,  will  easily  pass 
from  a  financial  oligarchy  to  anarchy." 

"  How  erroneous  it  is,"  retorted  Arcade,  "  to 
believe  in  great  and  sudden  changes  in  the  social 
order  in  Europe  !  The  old  order  is  still  young  in 
strength  and  power.  The  means  of  defence  at  her 
disposal  are  formidable.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
proletariat's  plan  of  defensive  organisation  is  of 
the  vaguest  description  and  brings  merely  weakness 
and  confusion  to  the  struggle.  In  our  celestial 
country  all  goes  quite  otherwise.  Beneath  an 
apparently  unchangeable  exterior  all  is  rotten 
within.  A  mere  push  would  suffice  to  overturn 
an  edifice  which  has  not  been  touched  for  millions 
of  centuries.  Out-worn  administration,  out-worn 
army,  out-worn  finance,  the  whole  thing  is  more 
worm-eaten  than  either  the  Russian  or  Persian 
autocracy." 

And  the  kindly  Arcade  adjured  the  Cherub  to 
fly  first  to  the  aid  of  his  brethren  who,  though 
dwelling  amid  the  soft  clouds  with  the  sound 
of  citterns  and  their  cups  of  paradisal  wine  around 


122    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

them,  were  in  more  wretched  plight  than  mankind 
bowed  over  the  grudging  earth.  For  the  latter 
have  a  conception  of  justice,  while  the  angels 
rejoice  in  iniquity.  He  exhorted  him  to  deliver  the 
Prince  of  Light  and  his  stricken  companions  and 
to  re-establish  them  in  their  ancient  honours. 

Prince  Istar  allowed  himself  to  be  convinced. 

He  promised  to  put  the  sweet  persuasiveness  of 
his  words  and  the  excellent  formulae  of  his  explosives 
at  the  service  of  the  celestial  revolution.  He  gave 
his  promise. 

"  To-morrow,"  he  said. 

And  when  the  morrow  came  he  continued  his 
anti-militarist  propaganda  at  Issy-les-Moulineaux. 
Like  the  Titan  Prometheus,  Istar  loved  mankind. 

Arcade,  suffering  from  all  the  desires  to  which 
the  sons  of  Adam  are  subjected,  found  himself 
lacking  in  resources  to  satisfy  them.  Istar  gave 
him  a  start  in  a  printing  house  in  the  Rue  de 
Vaugirard  where  he  knew  the  foreman.  Arcade, 
thanks  to  his  celestial  intelligence,  soon  knew  how  to 
set  up  type  and  became  in  a  short  time  a  good 
compositor. 

After  standing  all  day  in  the  whirring  work- 
room, holding  the  composing-stick  in  his  left  hand, 
and  swiftly  drawing  the  little  leaden  signs  from  the 
case  in  the  order  required  by  the  copy  fixed  in  the 
visorium,  he  would  go  and  wash  his  hands  at  the 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     123 

pump  and  dine  at  the  corner  bar,  a  newspaper 
propped  up  before  him  on  the  marble  table.  Being 
now  no  longer  invisible,  he  could  not  make  his  way 
into  the  d'Esparvieu  library,  and  was  thus  debarred 
from  allaying  his  ardent  thirst  for  knowledge  at 
that  inexhaustible  source.  He  went,  of  an  evening, 
to  read  at  the  library  of  Ste.  Genevieve  on  the 
famous  hill  of  learning,  but  there  were  only  ordinary 
books  to  be  had  there ;  greasy  things,  covered 
with  ridiculous  annotations,  and  lacking  many 
pages. 

The  sight  of  women  troubled  and  unsettled  him. 
He  would  remember  Madame  des  Aubels  and  her 
charm,  and,  although  he  was  handsome,  he  was  not 
loved,  because  of  his  poverty  and  his  workaday 
clothes.  He  saw  much  of  Zita,  and  took  a  certain 
pleasure  in  going  for  walks  with  her  on  Sundays 
along  the  dusty  roads  which  edge  the  grass-grown 
trenches  of  the  fortifications.  They  wandered,  the 
pair  of  them,  by  wayside  inns,  market-gardens,  and 
green  retreats,  propounding  and  discussing  the 
vastest  plans  that  ever  stirred  the  world,  and, 
occasionally,  as  they  passed  along  by  some  travelling 
circus,  the  steam  organ  of  the  merry-go-round 
would  furnish  an  accompaniment  to  their  words 
as  they  breathed  fire  and  fury  against  Heaven. 

Zita  used  often  to  say : 

"  Istar  means  well,  but  he's  a  simple  fellow. 
i 


i24    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

He  believes  in  the  goodness  of  men  and  things.  He 
undertakes  the  destruction  of  the  old  world  and 
imagines  that  anarchy  of  itself  will  create  order  and 
harmony.  You,  Arcade,  you  believe  in  Science  ; 
you  deem  that  men  and  angels  are  capable  of  under- 
standing, whereas,  in  point  of  fact,  they  are  only 
creatures  of  sentiment.  You  may  be  quite  sure  that 
nothing  is  to  be  obtained  from  them  by  appealing 
to  their  intelligence  ;  one  must  rouse  their  interests 
and  their  passions." 

Arcade,  Istar,  Zita,  and  three  or  four  other 
angelic  conspirators  occasionally  forgathered  in 
Theophile  Belais'  little  flat,  where  Bouchotte  gave 
them  tea.  Though  she  did  not  know  that  they  were 
rebellious  angels,  she  hated  them  instinctively,  and 
feared  them,  for  she  had  had  a  Christian  education, 
albeit  she  had  sadly  failed  to  keep  it  up. 

Prince  Istar  alone  pleased  her ;  she  thought 
there  was  something  kind-hearted  and  an  air  of 
natural  distinction  about  him.  He  stove  in  the  sofa, 
broke  down  the  arm-chairs,  and  tore  corners  off 
sheets  of  music  to  make  notes,  which  he  thrust  into 
pockets  invariably  crammed  with  pamphlets  and 
bottles.  The  musician  used  to  gaze  sorrowfully  at 
the  manuscript  of  his  operetta,  Aline,  Queen  of 
Golconda,  with  its  corners  all  torn  off.  The  prince 
also  had  a  habit  of  giving  Theophile  Belais  all  sorts 
of  things  to  take  care  of — mechanical  contrivances, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    125 

chemicals,  bits  of  old  iron,  powders,  and  liquids 
which  gave  off  noisome  smells.  Theophile  Belais 
put  them  cautiously  away  in  the  cupboard  where  he 
kept  his  wings,  and  the  responsibility  weighed 
heavily  upon  him. 

Arcade  was  much  pained  at  the  disdain  of  those 
of  his  fellows  who  had  remained  faithful.     When 
they  met  him  as  they  went  on  their  sacred  errands  ' 
they  regarded  him  as  they  passed  by  with  looks  of 
cruel  hatred  or  of  pity  that  was  crueller  still. 

He  used  to  visit  the  rebel  angels  whom  Prince 
Istar  pointed  out  to  him,  and  usually  met  with  a 
good  reception,  but  as  soon  as  he  began  to  speak  of 
conquering  Heaven,  they  did  not  conceal  the  em- 
barrassment and  displeasure  he  caused  them.  Arcade 
perceived  that  they  had  no  desire  to  be  disturbed 
in  their  tastes,  their  affairs  and  their  habits.  The 
falsity  of  their  judgment,  the  narrowness  of  their 
minds,  shocked  him ;  and  the  rivalry,  the  jealousy 
they  displayed  towards  one  another  deprived  him 
of  all  hope  of  uniting  them  in  a  common  cause. 
Perceiving  how  exile  debases  the  character  and 
warps  the  intellect  he  felt  his  courage  fail  him. 

One  evening,  when  he  had  confessed  his  weariness 
of  spirit  to  Zita,  the  beautiful  archangel  said : 

"  Let   us   go   and   see   Nectaire ;    Nectaire  has 
remedies  of  his  own  for  sadness  and  fatigue." 
She  led  him  into  the  woods  of  Montmorency  and 


iz6    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

stopped  at  the  threshold  of  a  small  white  house, 
adjoining  a  kitchen  garden,  laid  waste  by  winter, 
where  far  back  in  the  shadows  the  light  shone  on 
forcing-frames  and  cracked  glass  melon  shades. 

Nectaire  opened  the  door  to  his  visitors,  and,  after 
quieting  the  growls  of  a  big  mastiff  which  protected 
the  garden,  led  them  into  a  low  room  warmed  by 
an  earthenware  stove. 

Against  the  whitewashed  wall,  on  a  deal  board, 
among  the  onions  and  seeds,  lay  a  flute  ready  to  be 
put  to  the  lips.  A  round  walnut  table  bore  a  stone 
tobacco-jar,  a  pipe,  a  bottle  of  wine  and  some  glasses. 
The  gardener  offered  each  of  his  guests  a  cane-seated 
chair,  and  himself  sat  down  on  a  stool  by  the  table. 

He  was  a  sturdy  old  man  ;  thick  grey  hair  stood 
up  on  his  head,  he  had  a  furrowed  brow,  a  snub-nose, 
a  red  face  and  a  forked  beard. 

The  big  mastiff  stretched  himself  at  his  master's 
feet,  rested  his  short  black  muzzle  on  his  paws  and 
closed  his  eyes.  The  gardener  poured  out  some  wine 
for  his  guests,  and  when  they  had  drunk  and  talked 
a  little,  Zita  said  to  Nectaire : 

"  Please  play  your  flute  to  us,  you  will  give  plea- 
sure to  my  friend  whom  I  have  brought  to  see  you." 

The  old  man  immediately  consented.  He  put  the 
boxwood  pipe  to  his  lips, — so  clumsy  was  it  that  it 
looked  as  if  the  gardener  had  fashioned  it  himself, — 
and  preluded  with  a  few  strange  runs.  Then  he 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    127 

developed  rich  melodies  in  which  the  trills  sparkled 
like  diamonds  and  pearls  on  a  velvet  ground.  Touched 
by  cunning  fingers,  animated  with  creative  breath, 
the  rustic  pipe  sang  like  a  silver  flute.  There  were  no 
over-shrill  notes  and  the  tone  was  always  even  and 
pure.  One  seemed  to  be  listening  to  the  nightingale 
and  the  Muses  singing  together,  the  soul  of  Nature 
and  the  soul  of  Man.  And  the  old  man  ordered  and 
developed  his  thoughts  in  a  musical  language  full  of 
grace  and  daring.  He  told  of  love,  of  fear,  of  vain 
quarrels,  of  all-conquering  laughter,  of  the  calm 
light  of  the  intellect,  of  the  arrows  of  the  mind 
piercing  with  their  golden  shafts  the  monsters  of 
Ignorance  and  Hate.  He  told  also  of  Joy  and 
Sorrow  bending  their  twin  heads  over  the  earth  and 
of  Desire  which  brings  worlds  into  being. 

The  whole  night  listened  to  the  flute  of  Nectaire. 
Already  the  evening  star  was  rising  above  the  paling 
horizon. 

There  they  sat ;  Zita  with  hands  clasped  about  her 
knees,  Arcade,  his  head  leaning  on  his  hand,  his  lips 
apart.  Motionless  they  listened.  A  lark,  which  had 
awakened  hard  by  in  a  sandy  field,  lured  by  these 
novel  sounds,  rose  swiftly  in  the  air,  hovered  a  few 
seconds,  then  dropped  at  one  swoop  into  the 
musician's  orchard.  The  neighbouring  sparrows, 
forsaking  the  crannies  of  the  mouldering  walls,  came 
and  sat  in  a  row  on  the  window-ledge  whence  notes 


128    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

came  welling  forth  that  gave  them  more  delight  than 
oats  or  grains  of  barley.  A  jay,  coming  for  the  first 
time  out  of  his  wood,  folded  his  sapphire  wings  on  a 
leafless  cherry  tree.  Beside  the  drain-head,  a  large 
black  rat,  glistening  with  the  greasy  water  of  the 
sewers,  sitting  on  his  hind  legs,  raised  his  short  arms 
and  slender  fingers  in  amazement.  A  field-mouse, 
that  dwelt  in  the  orchard,  was  seated  near  him. 
Down  from  the  tiles  came  the  old  tom-cat,  who 
retained  the  grey  fur,  the  ringed  tail,  the  powerful 
loins,  the  courage  and  the  pride  of  his  ancestors. 
He  pushed  against  the  half-open  door  with  his  nose 
and  approaching  the  flute-player  with  silent  tread, 
sat  gravely  down,  pricking  his  ears  that  had  been 
torn  in  many  a  nocturnal  combat ;  the  grocer's 
white  cat  followed  him,  sniffing  the  vibrant  air  and 
then,  arching  her  back  and  closing  her  blue  eyes, 
listened  in  ravishment.  Mice,  swarming  in  crowds 
from  under  the  boards,  surrounded  them,  and 
fearing  neither  tooth  nor  claw,  sat  motionless,  their 
pink  hands  folded  voluptuously  on  their  bosoms. 
Spiders  that  had  strayed  far  from  their  webs,  with 
waving  legs,  gathered  in  a  charmed  circle  on  the 
ceiling.  A  small  grey  lizard,  that  had  glided  on  to  the 
doorstep,  stayed  there,  fascinated,  and,  in  the  loft, 
the  bat  might  have  been  seen  hanging  by  her  nails, 
head  down,  now  half-awakened  from  her  winter 
sleep,  swaying  to  the  rhythm  of  the  marvellous  flute. 


CHAPTER  XV 

WHEREIN  WE  SEE  YOUNG  MAURICE  BEWAILING  THE 
LOSS  OF  HIS  GUARDIAN  ANGEL,  EVEN  IN  HIS 
MISTRESS'S  ARMS,  AND  WHEREIN  WE  HEAR  THE 
ABBE  PATOUILLE  REJECT  AS  VAIN  AND  ILLUSORY 
ALL  NOTIONS  OF  A  NEW  REBELLION  OF  THE 

ANGELS 

FORTNIGHT  had  elapsed  since 
the  angel's  apparition  in  the  flat. 
For  the  first  time  Gilberte  arrived 
before  Maurice  at  the  rendezvous. 
Maurice  was  gloomy,  Gilberte  sulky. 
So  far  as  they  were  concerned  Nature  had  resumed 
her  drab  monotony.  They  eyed  each  other 
languidly,  and  kept  glancing  towards  the  angle 
between  the  wardrobe  with  the  mirror  and  the 
window,  where  recently  the  pale  shade  of  Arcade 
had  taken  shape,  and  where  now  the  blue  cretonne 
of  the  hangings  was  the  only  thing  visible.  Without 
giving  him  a  name  (it  was  unnecessary)  Madame  des 
Aubels  asked : 

"  You  have  not  seen  him  since  ?  " 

Slowly,  sadly,  Maurice  turned  his  head  from  right 

to  left,  and  from  left  to  right. 

129 


130    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

"  You  look  as  if  you  missed  him,"  continued 
Madame  des  Aubels.  "  But  come,  confess  that  he 
gave  you  a  terrible  fright,  and  that  you  were 
shocked  at  his  unconventionality." 

"  Certainly  he  was  unconventional,"  said  Maurice 
without  any  resentment. 

"  Tell  me,  Maurice,  is  it  nothing  to  you  now  to 
be  with  me  alone  ?  .  .  .  You  need  an  angel  to  inspire 
you.  That  is  sad,  for  a  young  man  like  you  !  " 

Maurice  appeared  not  to  hear,  and  asked  gravely : 

"  Gilberte,  do  you  feel  that  your  guardian  angel 
is  watching  over  you  ?  " 

"  I,  not  at  all.  I  have  never  thought  of  him,  and 
yet  I  am  not  without  religion.  In  the  first  place, 
people  who  have  none  are  like  animals.  And  then 
one  cannot  go  straight  without  religion.  It  is  im- 
possible." 

"  Exactly,  that's  just  it,"  said  Maurice,  his  eyes 
on  the  violet  stripes  of  his  flowerless  pyjamas ; 
"  when  one  has  one's  guardian  angel  one  does  not 
even  think  about  him,  and  when  one  has  lost  him 
one  feels  very  lonely." 

"  So  you  miss  this  .  .  ." 

"  Well,  the  fact  is  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,  you  miss  him.  Well,  my  dear,  the 
loss  of  such  a  guardian  angel  as  that  is  no  great 
matter.  No,  no !  he  is  not  worth  much,  that  Arcade 
of  yours.  On  that  famous  day,  while  you  were  out 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    131 

getting  him  some  clothes,  he  was  ever  so  long 
fastening  my  dress,  and  I  certainly  felt  his  hand  .  .  . 
Well,  at  any  rate,  don't  trust  him." 

Maurice  dreamily  lit  a  cigarette.  They  spoke  of 
the  six  days'  bicycle  race  at  the  winter  velodrome, 
and  of  the  aviation  show  at  the  motor  exhibition  at 
Brussels,  without  experiencing  the  slightest  amuse- 
ment. Then  they  tried  love-making  as  a  sort  of 
convenient  pastime,  and  succeeded  in  becoming 
moderately  absorbed  in  it ;  but  at  the  very  moment 
when  she  might  have  been  expected  to  play  a  part 
more  in  accordance  with  a  mutual  sentiment,  she 
exclaimed  with  a  sudden  start : 

"  Good  Heavens !  Maurice,  how  stupid  of  you  to 
tell  me  that  my  guardian  angel  can  see  me.  You  can- 
not imagine  how  uncomfortable  the  idea  makes  me." 

Maurice,  somewhat  taken  aback,  recalled,  a  little 
roughly,  his  mistress's  wandering  thoughts. 

She  declared  that  her  principles  forbade  her  to 
think  of  playing  a  round  game  with  angels. 

Maurice  was  longing  to  see  Arcade  again  and 
had  no  other  thought.  He  reproached  himself 
for  suffering  him  to  depart  without  discovering 
where  he  was  going,  and  he  cudgelled  his  brains 
night  and  day  thinking  how  to  find  him  again. 

On  the  bare  chance,  he  put  a  notice  in  the 
personal  column  of  one  of  the  big  papers,  running 
thus : 


132    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

"  Arcade.    Come  back  to  your  Maurice." 
Day  after  day  went   by,   and  Arcade   did   not 
return. 

One  morning,  at  seven  o'clock,  Maurice  went  to 
St.  Sulpice  to  hear  Abbe  Patouille  say  Mass,  then, 
as  the  priest  was  leaving  the  sacristy,  he  went  up  to 
him  and  asked  to  be  heard  for  a  moment. 

They  descended  the  steps  of  the  church  together 
and  in  the  bright  morning  light  walked  round  the 
fountain  of  the  Quatre  Eveques.  In  spite  of  his 
troubled  conscience  and  the  difficulty  of  presenting 
so  extraordinary  a  case  with  any  degree  of  credibility, 
Maurice  related  how  the  angel  Arcade  had  appeared 
to  him  and  had  announced  his  unhappy  resolve  to 
separate  from  him  and  to  stir  up  a  new  revolt  of 
the  spirits  of  glory.  And  young  d'Esparvieu  asked 
the  worthy  ecclesiastic  how  to  find  his  celestial 
guardian  again,  since  he  could  not  bear  his  absence, 
and  how  to  lead  his  angel  back  to  the  Christian 
faith.  Abbe  Patouille  replied  in  a  tone  of  affectionate 
sorrow  that  his  dear  child  had  been  dreaming,  that 
he  took  a  morbid  hallucination  for  reality,  and  that 
it  was  not  permissible  to  believe  that  good  angels 
may  revolt. 

"  People  have  a  notion,"  he  added,  "  that  they 
can  lead  a  life  of  dissipation  and  disorder  with 
impunity.  They  are  wrong.  The  abuse  of  pleasure 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    133 

corrupts  the  intelligence  and  impairs  the  under- 
standing. The  devil  takes  possession  of  the  sinner's 
senses,  penetrating  even  to  his  soul.  He  has  deceived 
you,  Maurice,  by  a  clumsy  artifice." 

Maurice  objected  that  he  was  not  in  any  way  a 
victim  of  hallucinations,  that  he  had  not  been 
dreaming,  that  he  had  seen  his  guardian  angel  with 
his  eyes  and  heard  him  with  his  ears. 

"  Monsieur  1'Abbe,"  he  insisted,  "  a  lady  who 
happened  to  be  with  me  at  the  time, — I  need  not 
mention  her  name, — also  saw  and  heard  him.  And, 
moreover,  she  felt  the  angel's  fingers  straying  .  .  . 
well,  anyhow,  she  felt  them.  .  .  .  Believe  me, 
Monsieur  1'Abbe,  nothing  could  be  more  real,  more 
positively  certain  than  this  apparition.  The  angel 
was  fair,  young,  very  handsome.  His  clear  skin 
seemed,  in  the  shadow, -as  if  bathed  in  milky  light. 
He  spoke  in  a  pure,  sweet  voice." 

"  That,  alone,  my  child,"  the  Abbe  interrupted 
quickly,  "  proves  you  were  dreaming.  According  to 
all  the  demonologies,  bad  angels  have  a  hoarse  voice, 
which  grates  like  a  rusty  lock,  and  even  if  they  did 
contrive  to  give  a  certain  look  of  beauty  to  their 
faces,  they  cannot  succeed  in  imitating  the  pure 
voice  of  the  good  spirits.  This  fact,  attested  by 
numerous  witnesses,  is  established  beyond  all 
doubt." 

"  But,  Monsieur  1'Abbe,  I  saw  him.  I  saw  him  sit 


134    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

down,  stark  naked,  in  an  arm-chair  on  a  pair  of  black 
stockings.  What  else  do  you  want  me  to  tell  you?  " 

The  Abbe  Patouille  appeared  in  no  way  disturbed 
by  this  announcement. 

"  I  say  once  more,  my  son,"  he  replied,  "  that 
these  unhappy  illusions,  these  dreams  of  a  deeply 
troubled  soul,  are  to  be  ascribed  to  the  deplorable 
state  of  your  conscience.  I  believe,  moreover,  that 
I  can  detect  the  particular  circumstance  that  has 
caused  your  unstable  mind  thus  to  come  to  grief. 
During  the  winter,  in  company  with  Monsieur 
Sariette  and  your  Uncle  Gaetan,  you  came,  in  an 
evil  frame  of  mind,  to  see  the  Chapel  of  the  Holy 
Angels  in  this  church,  then  undergoing  repair.  As 
I  observed  on  that  occasion,  it  is  impossible  to  keep 
artists  too  closely  to  the  rules  of  Christian  art ; 
they  cannot  be  too  strongly  enjoined  to  respect 
Holy  Writ  and  its  authorized  interpreters.  Mon- 
sieur Eugene  Delacroix  did  not  suffer  his  fiery 
genius  to  be  controlled  by  tradition.  He  brooked 
no  guidance  and,  here,  in  this  chapel  he  has  painted 
pictures  which  in  common  parlance  we  call  lurid, 
compositions  of  a  violent,  terrible  nature  which, 
far  from  inspiring  the  soul  with  peace,  quietude 
and  calm,  plunge  it  into  a  state  of  agitation. 
In  them  the  angels  are  depicted  with  wrathful 
countenances,  their  features  are  sombre  and  un- 
couth. One  might  take  them  to  be  Lucifer  and  his 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    135 

companions  meditating  their  revolt.  Well,  my  son, 
it  was  these  pictures,  acting  upon  a  mind  already 
weakened  and  undermined  by  every  kind  of  dissipa- 
tion, that  have  filled  it  with  the  trouble  to  which  it 
is  at  present  a  prey." 

But  Maurice  would  have  none  of  it, 

"  Oh,  no  !  Monsieur  1'Abbe,"  he  cried,  "  it  is 
not  Eugene  Delacroix's  pictures  that  have  been 
troubling  me.  I  didn't  so  much  as  look  at  them. 
I  am  completely  indifferent  to  that  kind  of 
art." 

"  Well,  then,  my  son,  believe  me  :  there  is  no 
truth,  no  reality,  in  any  of  the  story  you  have  just 
related  to  me.  Your  guardian  angel  has  certainly 
not  appeared  to  you." 

"  But,  Abbe,"  replied  Maurice,  who  had  the 
most  absolute  confidence  in  the  evidence  of  the 
senses,  "  I  saw  him  tying  up  a  woman's  shoe- 
laces and  putting  on  the  trousers  of  a  suicide." 

And  stamping  his  feet  on  the  asphalt,  Maurice 
called  as  witnesses  to  the  truth  of  his  words  the  sky, 
the  earth,  all  nature,  the  towers  of  St.  Sulpice, 
the  walls  of  the  great  seminary,  the  Fountain  of  the 
Quatre  Eveques,  the  public  lavatory,  the  cabmen's 
shelter,  the  taxis  and  motor  'buses'  shelter,  the 
trees,  the  passers-by,  the  dogs,  the  sparrows,  the 
flower-seller  and  her  flowers. 

The  Abbe  made  haste  to  end  the  interview. 


136    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

"  All  this  is  error,  falsehood,  and  illusion,  my 
child,"  said  he.  "  You  are  a  Christian  :  think  as  a 
Christian, — a  Christian  does  not  allow  himself  to 
be  seduced  by  empty  shadows.  Faith  protects  him 
against  the  seduction  of  the  marvellous,  he  leaves 
credulity  to  freethinkers.  There  are  credulous 
people  for  you — freethinkers !  There  is  no  humbug 
they  will  not  swallow.  But  the  Christian  carries  a 
weapon  which  dissipates  diabolical  illusions, — the 
sign  of  the  Cross.  Reassure  yourself,  Maurice, — 
you  have  not  lost  your  guardian  angel.  He  still 
watches  over  you.  It  lies  with  you  not  to  make 
this  task  too  difficult  nor  too  painful  for  him.  Good- 
bye, Maurice.  !  The  weather  is  going  to  change,  for 
I  feel  a  burning  in  my  big  toe." 

And  Abbe  Patouille  went  off  with  his  breviary 
under  his  arm,  hobbling  along  with  a  dignity  that 
seemed  to  foretell  a  mitre. 

That  very  day,  Arcade  and  Zita  were  leaning 
over  the  parapet  of  La  Butte,  gazing  down  on  the 
mist  and  smoke  that  lay  floating  over  the  vast 
city. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  said  Arcade,  "  for  the  mind 
to  conceive  all  the  pain  and  suffering  that  lie 
pent  within  a  great  city  ?  It  is  my  belief  that  if  a 
man  succeeded  in  realising  it,  the  weight  of  it 
would  crush  him  to  the  earth." 

"  And  yet,"  answered  Zita,  "  every  living  being 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    137 

in  that  place  of  torment  is  enamoured  of  life.  It  is 
a  great  enigma  ! 

"  Unhappy,  ill-fated,  while  they  live,  the  idea 
of  ceasing  to  be  is,  nevertheless,  a  horror  to  them. 
They  look  not  for  solace  in  annihilation,  it  does  not 
even  bring  them  the  promise  of  rest.  In  their 
madness  they  even  look  upon  nothingness  with 
terror :  they  have  peopled  it  with  phantoms. 
Look  you  at  these  pediments,  these  towers  and 
domes  and  spires  that  pierce  the  mist  and  rear  on 
high  their  glittering  crosses.  Men  bow  in  adoration 
before  the  demiurge  who  has  given  them  a  life 
that  is  worse  than  death,  and  a  death  that  is  worse 
than  life." 

Zita  was  for  a  long  time  lost  in  thought.  At 
length  she  broke  silence,  saying : 

"  There  is  something,  Arcade,  that  I  must 
confess  to  you.  It  was  no  desire  for  a  purer  justice 
or  wiser  laws  that  hurried  Ithuriel  earthward. 
Ambition,  a  taste  for  intrigue,  the  love  of  wealth 
and  honour,  all  these  things  made  Heaven,  with  its 
calm,  unbearable  to  me,  and  I  longed  to  mingle 
with  the  restless  race  of  men.  I  came,  and  by  an 
art  unknown  to  nearly  all  the  angels,  I  learned  how 
to  fashion  myself  a  body  which,  since  I  could  change 
it  as  the  fancy  seized  me,  to  whatsoever  age  and  sex 
I  would,  has  permitted  me  to  experience  the  most 
diverse  and  amazing  of  human  destinies.  A  hundred 


138    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

times  I  took  a  position  of  renown  among  the  leaders 
of  the  day,  the  lords  of  wealth  and  princes  of 
nations.  I  will  not  reveal  to  you,  Arcade,  the 
famous  names  I  bore  ;  know  only  that  I  was  pre- 
eminent in  learning,  in  the  fine  arts,  in  power, 
wealth  and  beauty,  among  all  the  nations  of  the 
world.  At  last,  it  was  but  a  few  years  since,  as  I  was 
journeying  in  France,  under  the  outward  semblance 
of  a  distinguished  foreigner,  I  chanced  to  be  roaming 
at  evening,  through  the  forest  of  Montmorency, 
when  I  heard  a  flute  unfolding  all  the  sorrows  of 
Heaven.  The  purity  and  sadness  of  its  notes  rent 
my  very  soul.  Never  before  had  I  hearkened  to 
aught  so  lovely.  My  eyes  were  wet  with  tears,  my 
bosom  full  of  sobs,  as  I  drew  near  and  beheld,  on 
the  skirts  of  a  glade,  an  old  man  like  to  a  faun, 
blowing  on  a  rustic  pipe.  It  was  Nectaire.  I  cast 
myself  at  his  feet,  imprinted  kisses  on  his  hands 
and  on  his  lips  divine,  and  fled  away.  .  .  . 

"  From  that  day  forth,  conscious  of  the  littleness 
of  human  achievements,  weary  of  the  tumult  and 
the  vanity  of  earthly  things,  ashamed  of  my  vast 
and  profitless  endeavours,  and  deciding  to  seek  out 
a  loftier  aim  for  my  ambition,  I  looked  upwards 
towards  my  skiey  home  and  vowed  I  would  return 
to  it  as  a  Deliverer.  I  rid  myself  of  titles,  name, 
wealth,  friends,  the  horde  of  sycophants  and  flat- 
terers and,  as  Zita  the  obscure,  set  to  work  in 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    139 

indigence  and  solitude,  to  bring  freedom  into 
Heaven." 

"  And  I,"  said  Arcade,  "  I  too  have  heard  the 
flute  of  Nectaire.  But  who  is  this  old  gardener 
who  can  thus  woo  from  a  rude  wooden  pipe  notes 
that  are  so  moving  and  so  beautiful  ?  " 

"  You  will  soon  know,"  answered  Zita. 


CHAPTER  XVI 


WHEREIN  MIRA  THE  SEERESS,  ZEPHYRINE  AND  THE 
FATAL  AMEDEE  ARE  SUCCESSIVELY  BROUGHT  UPON 
THE  SCENE,  AND  WHEREIN  THE  NOTION  OF 
EURIPIDES  THAT  THOSE  WHOM  ZEUS  WISHES  TO 
CRUSH  HE  FIRST  MAKES  MAD,  IS  ILLUSTRATED  BY 
THE  TERRIBLE  EXAMPLE  OF  MONSIEUR  SARIETTE 


ISAPPOINTED  at  his  failure  to 
enlighten  an  ecclesiastic  renowned 
for  his  clarity  of  mind,  and  frus- 
trated in  the  hope  of  finding  his 
angel  again  on  the  high  road  of 
orthodoxy,  Maurice  took  it  into  his  head  to  resort 
to  occultism  and  resolved  to  go  and  consult  a  seer. 
He  would  have  undoubtedly  applied  to  Madame  de 
Thebes,  but  he  had  already  questioned  her  on  the 
occasion  of  his  early  love  troubles,  and  her  replies 
showed  such  wisdom  that  he  no  longer  believed  her 
to  be  a  soothsayer.  He  therefore  had  recourse  to  a 
fashionable  medium,  Madame  Mira.  He  had  heard 
many  examples  quoted  of  the  extraordinary  insight 
of  this  seeress,  but  it  was  necessary  to  present 
Madame  Mira  with  some  object  which  the  absent 

140 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    141 

one  had  either  touched  or  worn  and  to  which  her 
translucent  gaze  had  to  be  attracted.  Maurice, 
trying  to  remember  what  the  angel  had  touched 
since  his  ill-fated  incarnation,  recollected  that  in 
his  celestial  nudity  he  had  sat  down  in  an  arm- 
chair on  Madame  des  Aubels'  black  stockings  and 
that  he  had  afterwards  helped  that  lady  to  dress. 

Maurice  asked  Gilberte  for  one  of  the  talismans 
required  by  the  clairvoyante.  But  Gilberte  could 
not  give  him  a  single  one,  unless,  as  she  said,  she 
herself  were  to  play  the  part  of  the  talisman.  For 
the  angel  had,  in  her  case,  displayed  the  greatest 
indiscretion,  and  such  agility  that  it  was  impossible 
always  to  forestall  his  enterprise.  On  hearing  this 
confession,  which  nevertheless  told  him  nothing 
new,  Maurice  lost  his  temper  with  the  angel, 
calling  him  by  the  names  of  the  lowest  animals 
and  swearing  he  would  give  him  a  good  kick  when 
he  got  him  within  reach  of  his  foot.  But  his  fury 
soon  turned  against  Madame  des  Aubels ;  he 
accused  her  of  having  provoked  the  insolence  she 
now  denounced,  and  in  his  wrath  he  referred  to 
her  by  all  the  zoological  symbols  of  immodesty 
and  perversity.  His  love  for  Arcade  was  rekindled 
in  his  heart,  and  burned  with  a  more  ardent  flame 
than  ever,  and  the  deserted  youth,  with  outstretched 
arms  and  bended  knees,  invoked  his  angel  with  sobs 
and  lamentations. 


142    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

During  his  sleepless  nights  it  occurred  to  him 
that  perhaps  the  books  the  angel  had  turned  over 
before  his  incarnation  might  serve  as  a  talisman. 
One  morning,  therefore,  Maurice  went  up  to  the 
library  and  greeted  Monsieur  Sariette,  who  was 
cataloguing  under  the  romantic  gaze  of  Alexandre 
d'Esparvieu.  Monsieur  Sariette  smiled,  but  his 
face  was  deathly  pale.  Now  that  an  invisible  hand 
no  longer  upset  the  books  placed  under  his  charge, 
now  that  tranquillity  and  order  once  more  reigned 
in  the  library,  Monsieur  Sariette  was  happy,  but 
his  strength  diminished  day  by  day.  There  was  little 
left  of  him  but  a  frail  and  contented  shadow. 

"One  dies,  in  full  content,  of  sorrow  past." 

"  Monsieur  Sariette,"  said  Maurice,  "  you  re- 
member that  time  when  your  books  were  disarranged 
every  night,  how  armfuls  disappeared,  how  they 
were  dragged  about,  turned  over,  ruined,  and  sent 
rolling  helter-skelter  as  far  as  the  gutter  in  the  Rue 
Palatine.  Those  were  great  days !  Point  out  to  me, 
Monsieur  Sariette,  the  books  which  suffered  most." 

This  proposition  threw  Monsieur  Sariette  into  a 
melancholy  stupor,  and  Maurice  had  to  repeat  his 
request  three  times  before  he  could  make  the  aged 
librarian  understand.  At  length  he  pointed  to  a 
very  ancient  Talmud  from  Jerusalem  as  having  been 
frequently  touched  by  those  unseen  hands.  An 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     143 

apocryphal  Gospel  of  the  third  century,  consisting 
of  twenty  papyrus  sheets  had  also  quitted  its  place 
time  after  time.  Gassendi's  Correspondence,  too, 
seemed  to  have  been  well  thumbed. 

"  But,"  added  Monsieur  Sariette,  "  the  book  to 
which  the  mysterious  visitant  devoted  the  most  par- 
ticular attention  was  undoubtedly  a  little  copy  of 
Lucretius  adorned  with  the  arms  of  Philippe  de 
Vendome,  Grand  Prieur  de  France,  with  autograph 
annotations  by  Voltaire,  who,  as  is  well  known,  fre- 
quently visited  the  Temple  in  his  younger  days.  The 
fearsome  reader  who  caused  me  such  terrible  anxiety 
never  grew  weary  of  this  Lucretius  and  made  it  his 
bedside  book,  as  it  were.  His  taste  was  sound,  for 
it's  a  gem  of  a  thing.  Alas  !  the  monster  made  a 
blot  of  ink  on  page  137  which  perhaps  the  chemists 
with  all  the  science  at  their  disposal  will  be  power- 
less to  erase." 

And  Monsieur  Sariette  heaved  a  profound  sigh. 
He  repented  having  said  all  this  when  young 
d'Esparvieu  asked  him  for  the  loan  of  the  precious 
Lucretius.  Vainly  did  the  jealous  custodian  affirm 
that  the  book  was  being  repaired  at  the  binder's  and 
was  not  available.  Maurice  made  it  clear  that  he 
wasn't  to  be  taken  in  like  that.  He  strode  resolutely 
into  the  abode  of  the  philosophers  and  the  globes 
and  seating  himself  in  an  arm-chair  said : 

"  I  am  waiting." 


144    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

Monsieur  Sariette  suggested  his  having  another 
edition.  There  were  some  that,  textually,  were 
more  correct,  and  were,  therefore,  preferable  from 
the  student's  point  of  view.  He  offered  him  Barbou's 
edition,  or  Coustelier's,  or,  better  still,  a  French 
translation.  He  could  have  the  Baron  des  Coutures' 
version — which  was  perhaps  a  little  old-fashioned — or 
La  Grange's,  or  those  in  the  Nisard  and  Panckouke 
series ;  or,  again,  there  were  two  versions  of  striking 
elegance,  one  in  verse  and  the  other  in  prose,  both 
from  the  pen  of  Monsieur  de  Pongerville  of  the 
French  Academy. 

"  I  don't  need  a  translation,"  said  Maurice 
proudly.  "  Give  me  the  Prior  de  Vendome's 
copy." 

Monsieur  Sariette  went  slowly  up  to  the  cup- 
board in  which  the  jewel  in  question  was  contained. 
The  keys  were  rattling  in  his  trembling  hand.  He 
raised  them  to  the  lock  and  withdrew  them  again 
immediately  and  suggested  that  Maurice  should 
have  the  common  Lucretius  published  by  Gamier. 

"  It's  very  handy,"  said  he  with  an  engaging 
smile. 

But  the  silence  with  which  this  proposal  was 
received  made  it  clear  that  resistance  was  useless. 
He  slowly  drew  forth  the  volume  from  its  place, 
and  having  taken  the  precaution  to  see  that  there 
wasn't  a  speck  of  dust  on  the  table-cloth,  he  laid  it 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    145 

tremblingly  thereon  before  the  great-grandson  of 
Alexandre  d'Esparvieu. 

Maurice  began  to  turn  the  leaves,  and  when  he 
got  to  page  137  he  saw  the  stain  which  had  been 
made  with  violet  ink.  It  was  about  the  size  of  a 
pea. 

"  Ay,  that's  it,"  said  old  Sariette,  who  had  his  eye 
on  the  Lucretius  the  whole  time  ;  "  that's  the  trace 
those  invisible  monsters  left  behind  them." 

"  What,  there  were  several  of  them,  Monsieur 
Sariette  ?  "  exclaimed  Maurice. 

"  I  cannot  tell.  But  I  don't  know  whether  I  have 
a  right  to  have  this  blot  removed  since,  like  the 
blot  Paul  Louis  Courier  made  on  the  Florentine 
manuscript,  it  constitutes  a  literary  document,  so 
to  speak." 

Scarcely  were  the  words  out  of  the  old  fellow's 
mouth  when  the  front  door  bell  rang  and  there  was 
a  confused  noise  of  voices  and  footsteps  in  the  next 
room.  Sariette  ran  forward  at  the  sound  and 
collided  with  Pere  Guinardon's  mistress,  old  Zephy- 
rine,  who,  with  her  tousled  hair  sticking  up  like  a 
nest  of  vipers,  her  face  aflame,  her  bosom  heaving, 
her  abdominal  part  like  an  eiderdown  quilt  puffed 
out  by  a  terrific  gale,  was  choking  with  grief  and 
rage.  And  amid  sobs  and  sighs  and  groans  and  all 
the  innumerable  sounds  which,  on  earth,  make 
up  the  mighty  uproar  to  which  the  emotions  of 


146    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

living  beings  and  the  tumult  of  nature  give  rise,  she 
cried : 

"  He's  gone,  the  monster  !  He's  gone  off  with  her. 
He's  cleared  out  the  whole  shanty  and  left  me  to 
shift  for  myself  with  eighteenpence  in  my  purse." 

And  she  proceeded  to  give  a  long  and  incoherent 
account  of  how  Michel  Guinardon  had  abandoned 
her  and  gone  to  live  with  Octavie,  the  bread- 
woman's  daughter,  and  she  let  loose  a  torrent  of 
abuse  against  the  traitor. 

"  A  man  whom  I've  kept  going  with  my  own 
money  for  fifty  years  and  more.  For  I've  had  plenty 
of  the  needful  and  known  plenty  of  the  upper  ten 
and  all.  I  dragged  him  out  of  the  gutter  and  now 
this  is  what  I  get  for  it.  He's  a  bright  beauty,  that 
friend  of  yours.  The  lazy  scoundrel.  Why,  he  had 
to  be  dressed  like  a  child,  the  drunken  contemptible 
brute.  You  don't  know  him  yet,  Monsieur  Sariette. 
He's  a  forger.  He  turns  out  Giottos,  Giottos,  I 
tell  you,  and  Fra  Angelicos  and  Grecos,  as  hard  as 
he  can  and  sells  them  to  art-dealers — yes,  and  Fra- 
gonards  too,  and  Baudouins.  He's  a  debauchee,  and 
doesn't  believe  in  God  !  That's  the  worst  of  the 
lot,  Monsieur  Sariette,  for  without  the  fear  of 
God.  .  .  ." 

Long  did  Zephyrine  continue  to  pour  forth 
vituperations.  When  at  last  her  breath  failed  her, 
Monsieur  Sariette  availed  himself  of  the  opportunity 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    147 

to  exhort  her  to  be  calm  and  bring  herself  to  look 
on  the  bright  side  of  things.  Guinardon  would 
come  back.  A  man  doesn't  forget  anyone  he's  lived 
and  got  on  well  with  for  fifty  years 

These  two  observations  only  goaded  her  to  a  fresh 
outburst,  and  Zephyrine  swore  she  would  never 
forget  the  slight  that  had  been  put  on  her ;  she  swore 
she  would  never  have  the  monster  back  with  her  any 
more.  And  if  he  came  to  ask  her  to  forgive  him  on 
his  knees,  she  would  let  him  grovel  at  her  feet. 

"  Don't  you  understand,  Monsieur  Sariette,  that 
I  despise  and  hate  him,  that  he  makes  me  sick  ?  " 

Sixty  times  she  voiced  these  lofty  sentiments  ; 
sixty  times  she  vowed  she  would  never  have  Guin- 
ardon back  with  her  again,  that  she  couldn't  bear 
the  sight  of  him,  even  in  a  picture. 

Monsieur  Sariette  made  no  attempt  to  oppose  a 
resolve  which,  after  protestations  such  as  these,  he 
regarded  as  unshakeable.  He  did  not  blame  Zephy- 
rine in  the  least.  He  even  supported  her.  Unfolding 
to  the  deserted  one  a  purer  future,  he  told  her  of 
the  frailty  of  human  sentiment,  exhorted  her  to 
display  a  spirit  of  renunciation  and  enjoined  her  to 
show  a  pious  resignation  to  the  will  of  God. 

"  Seeing,  in  truth,  that  your  friend  is  so  little 
worthy  of  affection  .  .  ." 

He  was  not  suffered  to  continue.  Zephyrine  flew 
at  him,  and  shaking  him  furiously  by  the  collar 


148    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

of  his  frock-coat,  she  yelled,  half  choking  with 
rage  :  "  So  little  worthy  of  affection  !  Michel ! 
Ah  !  my  boy,  you  find  another  more  kind,  more 
gay,  more  witty,  you  find  another  like  him,  always 
young,  yes,  always.  Not  worthy  of  affection ! 
Anyone  can  see  you  don't  know  anything  about  love, 
you  old  duffer." 

Taking  advantage  of  the  fact  that  Pere  Sariette 
was  thus  deeply  engaged,  young  d'Esparvieu  slipped 
the  little  Lucretius  into  his  pocket,  and  strolled 
deliberately  past  the  crouching  librarian,  bidding 
him  adieu  with  a  little  wave  of  the  hand. 

Armed  with  his  talisman,  he  hastened  to  the 
Place  des  Ternes,  to  interview  Madame  Mira.  She 
received  him  in  a  red  drawing-room  where  neither 
owl  nor  frog  nor  any  of  the  paraphernalia  of  ancient 
magic  were  to  be  found.  Madame  Mira,  in  a  prune- 
coloured  dress,  her  hair  powdered,  though  already 
past  her  prime,  was  of  very  good  appearance.  She 
spoke  with  a  certain  elegance  and  prided  herself 
on  discovering  hidden  things  by  the  help  alone  of 
Science,  Philosophy  and  Religion.  She  felt  the 
morocco  binding,  feigning  to  close  her  eyes,  and 
looking  meanwhile  through  the  narrow  slit  between 
her  lids  at  the  Latin  title  and  the  coat  of  arms  which 
conveyed  nothing  to  her. 

Accustomed  to  receive  as  tokens  such  things  as 
rings,  handkerchiefs,  letters,  and  locks  of  hair,  she 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    149 

could  not  conceive  to  what  sort  of  individual  this 
singular  book  could  belong.  By  habitual  and 
mechanical  cunning  she  disguised  her  real  surprise 
under  a  feigned  surprise. 

"  Strange  !  "  she  murmured,  "  strange  !  I  do  not 
see  quite  clearly.  ...  I  perceive  a  woman.  .  .  ". 

As  she  let  fall  this  magic  word,  she  glanced 
furtively  to  see  what  sort  of  an  effect  it  had  and 
beheld  on  her  questioner's  face  an  unexpected  look 
of  disappointment.  Perceiving  that  she  was  off  the 
track,  she  immediately  changed  her  oracle : 

"  But  she  fades  away  immediately.  It  is  strange, 
strange  !  I  have  a  confused  impression  of  some 
vague  form,  a  being  that  I  cannot  define,"  and 
having  assured  herself  by  a  hurried  glance  that, 
this  time,  her  words  were  going  down,  she  expatiated 
on  the  vagueness  of  the  person  and  on  the  mist  that 
enveloped  him. 

However,  the  vision  grew  clearer  to  Madame 
Mira,  who  was  following  a  clue  step  by  step. 

"  A  wide  street  ...  a  square  with  a  statue  ...  a 
deserted  street, — stairs.  He  is  there  in  a  bluish  room 
— he  is  a  young  man,  with  pale  and  careworn  face. 
There  are  things  he  seems  to  regret,  and  which  he 
would  not  do  again  did  they  still  remain  undone." 

But  the  effort  at  divination  had  been  too  great. 
Fatigue  prevented  the  clairvoyante  from  con- 
tinuing her  transcendental  researches.  She  spent  her 


150    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

remaining  strength  in  impressively  recommending 
him  who  consulted  her  to  remain  in  intimate  union 
with  God  if  he  wished  to  regain  what  he  had  lost 
and  succeed  in  his  attempts. 

On  leaving  Maurice  placed  a  louis  on  the  mantel- 
piece and  went  away  moved  and  troubled,  persuaded 
that  Madame  Mira  possessed  supernatural  faculties, 
but  unfortunately  insufficient  ones. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  he  remembered  he 
had  left  the  little  Lucretius  on  the  table  of  the 
Pythoness,  and,  thinking  that  the  old  maniac 
Sariette  would  never  get  over  its  loss,  went  up  to 
recover  possession  of  it. 

On  re-entering  the  paternal  abode  his  gaze  lighted 
upon  a  shadowy  and  grief-stricken  figure.  It  was 
old  Sariette,  who  in  tones  as  plaintive  as  the  wail  of 
the  November  wind  began  to  beg  for  his  Lucretius. 
Maurice  pulled  it  carelessly  out  of  his  great-coat 
pocket. 

"  Don't  flurry  yourself,  Monsieur  Sariette,"  said 
he.  "  There  the  thing  is." 

Clasping  the  jewel  to  his  bosom  the  old  librarian 
bore  it  away  and  laid  it  gently  down  on  the  blue 
table-cloth,  thinking  all  the  while  where  he  might 
safely  hide  his  precious  treasure,  and  turning  over 
all  sorts  of  schemes  in  his  mind  as  became  a  zealous 
curator.  But  who  among  us  shall  boast  of  his 
wisdom  ?  The  foresight  of  man  is  short,  and  his 


THE  REVOLT  OF   THE   ANGELS    151 

prudence  is  for  ever  being  baffled.  The  blows  of 
fate  are  ineluctable  ;  no  man  shall  evade  his  doom. 
There  is  no  counsel,  no  caution  that  avails  against 
destiny.  Hapless  as  we  are,  the  same  blind  force 
which  regulates  the  courses  of  atom  and  of  star, 
fashions  universal  order  from  our  vicissitudes.  Our 
ill-fortune  is  necessary  to  the  harmony  of  the 
Universe.  It  was  the  day  for  the  binder,  a  day  which 
the  revolving  seasons  brought  round  twice  a  year, 
beneath  the  sign  of  the  Ram  and  the  sign  of  the 
Scales.  That  day,  ever  since  morning,  Monsieur 
Sariette  had  been  making  things  ready  for  the 
binder.  He  had  laid  out  on  the  table  as  many  of 
the  newly  purchased  paper-bound  volumes  as  were 
deemed  worthy  of  a  permanent  binding  or  of  being 
put  in  boards,  and  also  those  books  whose  binding 
was  in  need  of  repair,  and  of  all  these  he  had 
drawn  up  a  detailed  and  accurate  list.  Punctually 
at  five  o'clock,  old  Amedee,  the  man  from  Leger- 
Massieu's,  the  binder  in  the  Rue  de  PAbbaye, 
presented  himself  at  the  d'Esparvieu  library  and, 
after  a  double  check  had  been  carried  out  by 
Monsieur  Sariette,  thrust  the  books  he  was  to  take 
back  to  his  master  into  a  piece  of  cloth  which  he 
fastened  into  knots  at  the  four  corners  and  hoisted 
on  to  his  shoulder.  He  then  saluted  the  librarian 
with  the  following  words,  "  Good  night,  all !  " 
and  went  downstairs. 


152    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

Everything  went  off  on  this  occasion  as  usual. 
But  Amedee,  seeing  the  Lucretius  on  the  table, 
innocently  put  it  into  the  bag  with  the  others, 
and  took  it  away  without  Monsieur  Sariette's 
perceiving  it.  The  librarian  quitted  the  home  of 
the  Philosophers  and  Globes  in  entire  forgetfulness 
of  the  book  whose  absence  had  been  causing  him 
such  horrible  anxiety  all  day  long.  Some  people 
may  take  a  stern  view  of  the  matter  and  call  this  a 
lapse,  a  defection  of  his  better  nature.  But  would 
it  not  be  more  accurate  to  say  that  fate  had  decided 
that  things  should  come  to  pass  in  this  manner, 
and  that  what  is  called  chance,  and  is  in  fact  but 
the  regular  order  of  nature,  had  accomplished  this 
imperceptible  deed  which  was  to  have  such  awful 
consequences  in  the  sight  of  man  ?  Monsieur 
Sariette  went  off  to  his  dinner  at  the  Quatre  Eveques, 
and  read  his  paper  La  Croix.  He  was  tranquil  and 
serene.  It  was  only  the  next  morning  when  he 
entered  the  abode  of  the  Philosophers  and  Globes 
that  he  remembered  the  Lucretius.  Failing  to  see 
it  on  the  table  he  looked  for  it  everywhere,  but 
without  success.  It  never  entered  his  head  that 
Amedee  might  have  taken  it  away  by  mistake.  What 
he  did  think  was  that  the  invisible  visitant  had 
returned,  and  he  was  mightily  disturbed. 

The  unhappy  curator,  hearing  a  noise  on  the 
landing,  opened  the  door  and  found  it  was  little 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     153 

Leon,  who,  with  a  gold-braided  kepi  stuck  on  his 
head,  was  shouting  "  Vive  la  France  "  and  hurling 
dusters  and  feather-brooms  and  Hippolyte's  floor 
polish  at  imaginary  foes.  The  child  preferred  this 
landing  for  playing  soldiers  to  any  other  part  of 
the  house,  and  sometimes  he  would  stray  into  the 
library.  Monsieur  Sariette  was  seized  with  the 
sudden  suspicion  that  it  was  he  who  had  taken  the 
Lucretius  to  use  as  a  missile  and  he  ordered  him,  in 
threatening  tones,  to  give  it  back.  The  child  denied 
that  he  had  taken  it,  and  Monsieur  Sariette  had 
recourse  to  cajolery. 

"  Leon,  if  you  bring  me  back  the  little  red  book, 
I  will  give  you  some  chocolates." 

The  child  grew  thoughtful ;  and  in  the  evening, 
as  Monsieur  Sariette  was  going  downstairs,  he  met 
Leon,  who  said : 

"  There's  the  book  !  " 

And,  holding  out  a  much-torn  picture-book 
called  The  Story  of  Gribouille,  demanded  his  choco- 
lates. 

A  few  days  later  the  post  brought  Maurice  the 
prospectus  of  an  enquiry  agency  managed  by  an 
ex-employee  at  the  Prefecture  of  Police  ;  it  promised 
celerity  and  discretion.  He  found  at  the  address 
indicated  a  moustached  gentleman  morose  and  care- 
worn, who  demanded  a  deposit  and  promised  to 
find  the  individual. 


154    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

The  ex-police  official  soon  wrote  to  inform  him 
that  very  onerous  investigations  had  been  com- 
menced and  asked  for  fresh  funds.  Maurice  gave 
him  no  more  and  resolved  to  carry  on  the  search 
himself.  Imagining,  not  without  some  likelihood, 
that  the  angel  would  associate  with  the  wretched, 
seeing  that  he  had  no  money,  and  with  the  exiled 
of  all  nations  —  like  himself,  revolutionaries  —  he 
visited  the  lodging-houses  at  St.  Ouen,  at  la  Chapelle, 
Montmartre,  and  the  Barriere  d'ltalie.  He  sought 
him  in  the  doss-houses,  public-houses  where  they 
give  you  plates  of  tripe,  and  others  where  you  can 
get  a  sausage  for  three  sous ;  he  searched  for  him 
in  the  cellars  at  the  Market  and  at  Pere  Momie's. 

Maurice  visited  the  restaurants  where  nihilists 
and  anarchists  take  their  meals.  There  he  came 
across  men  dressed  as  women,  gloomy  and  wild- 
looking  youths,  and  blue-eyed  octogenarians  who 
laughed  like  little  children.  He  observed,  asked 
questions,  was  taken  for  a  spy,  had  a  knife  thrust 
into  him  by  a  very  beautiful  woman,  and  the  very 
next  day  continued  his  search  in  beer-houses, 
lodging-houses,  houses  of  ill-fame,  gambling-hells 
down  by  the  fortifications,  at  the  receivers  of  stolen 
goods,  and  among  the  "  apaches." 

Seeing  him  thus  pale,  harassed  and  silent,  his 
mother  grew  worried. 

"  We  must  find  him  a  wife,"  she  said.    "  It  is  a 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     155 

pity  that  Mademoiselle  de  la  Verdeliere  has  not  a 
bigger  fortune." 

Abbe  Patouille  did  not  hide  his  anxiety. 

"  This  child,"  he  said,  "  is  passing  through  a 
moral  crisis." 

"  I  am  more  inclined  to  think,"  replied  Monsieur 
Rene  d'Esparvieu,  "  that  he  is  under  the  influence 
of  some  bad  woman.  We  must  find  him  an  occupa- 
tion which  will  absorb  him  and  flatter  his  vanity. 
I  might  get  him  appointed  Secretary  to  the  Com- 
mittee for  the  Preservation  of  Country  Churches, 
or  Consulting  Counsel  to  the  Syndicate  of  Catholic 
Plumbers." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

WHEREIN  WE  LEARN  THAT  SOPHAR,  NO  LESS  EAGER 
FOR  GOLD  THAN  MAMMON,  LOOKED  UPON  HIS 
HEAVENLY  HOME  LESS  FAVOURABLY  THAN  UPON 
FRANCE,  A  COUNTRY  BLESSED  WITH  A  SAVINGS 
BANK  AND  LOAN  DEPARTMENTS,  AND  WHEREIN 
WE  SEE,  YET  ONCE  AGAIN,  THAT  WHOSO  IS 
POSSESSED  OF  THIS  WORLD'S  GOODS  FEARS  THE 
EVIL  EFFECTS  OF  ANY  CHANGE 

EANWHILE  Arcade  led  a  life  of 
obscure  toil.  He  worked  at  a  printer's 
in  the  Rue  St.  Benoit,  and  lived  in 
an  attic  in  the  Rue  Mouffetard. 
His  comrades  having  gone  on  strike, 
he  left  the  workroom  and  devoted  his  day  to  his 
propaganda.  So  successful  was  he  that  he  won  over 
to  the  side  of  revolt  fifty  thousand  of  those  guardian 
angels  who,  as  Zita  had  surmised,  were  discontented 
with  their  condition  and  imbued  with  the  spirit  of 
the  times.  But  lacking  money,  he  lacked  liberty, 
and  could  not  employ  his  time  as  he  wished  in 
instructing  the  sons  of  Heaven.  So,  too,  Prince 
Istar,  hampered  by  want  of  funds,  manufactured 
fewer  bombs  than  were  needed,  and  these  less  fine. 

156 


157 

Of  course  he  prepared  a  good  many  small  pocket 
machines.  He  had  filled  Theophile's  rooms  with 
them,  and  not  a  day  passed  but  he  forgot  some  and 
left  them  lying  about  on  the  seats  in  various  cafes. 
But  a  nice  bomb,  easily  handled  and  capable  of 
destroying  many  big  mansions,  cost  him  from  twenty 
to  twenty-five  thousand  francs ;  and  Prince  Istar 
only  possessed  two  of  this  kind.  Equally  bent  on 
procuring  funds,  Arcade  and  Istar  both  went  to 
make  a  request  for  money  from  a  celebrated 
financier  named  Max  Everdingen,  who,  as  everyone 
knows,  is  the  managing  director  of  the  biggest 
Banking  concern  in  France  and  indeed  in  the  whole 
world.  What  is  not  so  well  known  is  that  Max 
Everdingen  was  not  born  of  woman,  but  is  a  fallen 
angel.  Nevertheless,  such  is  the  truth.  In  Heaven 
he  was  named  Sophar,  and  guarded  the  treasures 
of  laldabaoth,  a  great  collector  of  gold  and  precious 
stones.  In  the  exercise  of  this  function  Sophar  con- 
tracted a  love  of  riches  which  could  not  be  satisfied 
in  a  state  of  society  in  which  Banks  and  Stock 
Exchanges  are  alike  unknown.  His  heart  flamed  with 
an  ardent  love  for  the  god  of  the  Hebrews  to  whom 
he  remained  faithful  during  a  long  course  of 
centuries.  But  at  the  commencement  of  the 
twentieth  century  of  the  Christian  era,  casting  his 
eyes  down  from  the  height  of  the  firmament  upon 
France,  he  saw  that  this  country,  under  the  name 


158    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

of  a  Republic  was  constituted  as  a  plutocracy,  and 
that,  under  the  appearance  of  a  democratic  govern- 
ment, high  finance  exercised  sovereign  sway,  un- 
trammelled and  unchecked. 

Henceforth  life  in  the  Empyrean  became  in- 
tolerable to  him.  He  longed  for  France  as  for  the 
promised  land,  and  one  day,  bearing  with  him  all 
the  precious  stones  he  could  carry,  he  descended 
to  earth  and  established  himself  in  Paris.  This 
angel  of  cupidity  did  good  business  there.  Since 
his  materialisation  his  face  had  lost  its  celestial 
aspect ;  it  reproduced  the  Semitic  type  in  all  its 
purity,  and  one  could  admire  the  lines  and  the 
puckers  which  wrinkle  the  faces  of  bankers  and 
which  are  to  be  seen  in  the  money-changers  of 
Quintin  Matsys. 

His  beginnings  were  humble  and  his  success 
amazing.  He  married  an  ugly  woman  and  they  saw 
themselves  reflected  in  their  children  as  in  a  mirror. 
Baron  Max  Everdingen's  large  mansion,  which 
rears  itself  on  the  heights  of  the  Trocadero,  is 
crammed  with  the  spoils  of  Christian  Europe. 

The  Baron  received  Arcade  and  Prince  Istar  in 
his  study, — one  of  the  most  modest  rooms  in  his 
mansion.  The  ceiling  is  decorated  with  a  fresco  of 
Tiepolo,  taken  from  a  Venetian  palace.  The  bureau  of 
the  Regent,  Philip  of  Orleans,  is  in  this  room,  which 
is  full  of  cabinets,  show-cases,  pictures  and  statues. 


159 

Arcade  allowed  his  gaze  to  wander  over  the  walls. 

"  How  comes  it,  my  brother  Sophar,"  said  he, 
"  that  you,  in  spite  of  your  Jewish  heart,  obey  so 
ill  the  commandment  of  the  Lord  your  God  who 
said :  '  Thou  shalt  have  no  graven  images '  ?  for 
here  I  see  an  Apollo  of  Houdon's  and  a  Hebe  of 
Lemoine's,  and  several  busts  by  Caffieri.  And,  like 
Solomon  in  his  old  age,  O  son  of  God,  you  set  up 
in  your  dwelling-place  the  idols  of  strange  nations : 
for  such  are  this  Venus  of  Boucher,  this  Jupiter  of 
Rubens,  and  those  nymphs  that  are  indebted  to 
Fragonard's  brush  for  the  gooseberry  jam  which 
smears  their  gleaming  limbs.  And  here  in  this 
single  show-case,  Sophar,  you  keep  the  sceptre  of 
St.  Louis,  six  hundred  pearls  of  Marie  Antoinette's 
broken  necklace,  the  imperial  mantle  of  Charles  V, 
the  tiara  wrought  by  Ghiberti  for  Pope  Martin  V, 
the  Colonna,  Bonaparte's  sword — and  I  know  not 
what  besides." 

"  Mere  trifles,"  said  Max  Everdingen. 

"  My  dear  Baron,"  said  Prince  Istar,  "  you  even 
possess  the  ring  which  Charlemagne  placed  on  a 
fairy's  finger  and  which  was  thought  to  be  lost.  But 
let  us  discuss  the  business  on  which  we  have  come. 
My  friend  and  I  have  come  to  ask  you  for  money." 

"  I  can  well  believe  it,"  replied  Max  Everdingen. 
;<  Everyone  wants  money,  but  for  different  reasons. 
What  do  you  want  money  for  ?  " 


160    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

Prince  Istar  replied  simply  : 

"  To  stir  up  a  revolution  in  France." 

"  In  France  !  "  repeated  the  Baron,  "  in  France  ? 
Well,  I  shall  give  you  no  money  for  that,  you  may 
be  quite  sure." 

Arcade  did  not  disguise  the  fact  that  he  had 
expected  greater  liberality  and  more  generous  help 
from  a  celestial  brother. 

"  Our  project,"  he  said,  "  is  a  vast  one.  It  em- 
braces both  Heaven  and  Earth.  It  is  settled  in 
every  detail.  We  shall  first  bring  about  a  social 
revolution  in  France,  in  Europe,  on  the  whole 
planet ;  then  we  shall  carry  war  into  the  heavens, 
where  we  shall  establish  a  peaceful  democracy. 
And  to  reduce  the  citadels  of  Heaven,  to  overturn 
the  mountain  of  God,  to  storm  celestial  Jerusalem, 
a  vast  army  is  needful,  enormous  resources,  for- 
midable machines,  and  electrophores  of  a  strength 
yet  unknown.  It  is  our  intention  to  commence 
with  France." 

"Youare  madmen  !"exclaimed Baron Everdingen; 
"  madmen  and  fools !  Listen  to  me.  There  is  not 
one  single  reform  to  carry  out  in  France.  All  is 
perfect,  finally  settled,  unchangeable.  You  hear  ? — 
unchangeable."  And  to  add  force  to  his  statement, 
Baron  Everdingen  banged  his  fist  three  times  on 
the  Regent's  bureau. 

"  Our  points  of  view  differ,"  said  Arcade  sweetly. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    161 

"/  think,  as  does  Prince  Istar,  that  everything 
should  be  changed  in  this  country.  But  what  boots 
it  to  dispute  the  matter  ?  Moreover,  it  is  too  late. 
We  have  come  to  speak  to  you,  O  my  brother 
Sophar,  in  the  name  of  five  hundred  thousand 
celestial  spirits,  all  resolved  to  commence  the 
universal  revolution  to-morrow." 

Baron  Everdingen  exclaimed  that  they  were  crazy, 
that  he  would  not  give  a  sou,  that  it  was  both 
criminal  and  mad  to  attack  the  most  admirable 
thing  in  the  world,  the  thing  which  renders  earth 
more  beautiful  than  heaven — Finance.  He  was  a 
poet  and  a  prophet.  His  heart  thrilled  with  holy 
enthusiasm ;  he  drew  attention  to  the  French 
Savings  Bank,  the  virtuous  Savings  Bank,  that 
chaste  and  pure  Savings  Bank  like  unto  the  Virgin 
of  the  Canticle  who,  issuing  from  the  depths  of 
the  country  in  rustic  petticoat,  bears  to  the  robust 
and  splendid  Bank — her  bridegroom,  who  awaits 
her — the  treasures  of  her  love ;  and  drew  a  picture 
of  the  Bank,  enriched  with  the  gifts  of  its  spouse, 
pouring  on  all  the  nations  of  the  world  torrents  of 
gold,  which,  of  themselves,  by  a  thousand  invisible 
channels  return  in  still  greater  abundance  to  the 
blessed  land  from  which  they  sprang. 

"  By  Deposit  and  Loan,"  he  went  on,  "  France 
has  become  the  New  Jerusalem,  shedding  her  glory 
over  all  the  nations  of  Europe,  and  the  Kings  of  the 


162     THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

Earth  come  to  kiss  her  rosy  feet.  And  that  is  what 
you  would  fain  destroy  ?  You  are  both  impious 
and  sacrilegious." 

Thus  spoke  the  angel  of  finance.  An  invisible 
harp  accompanied  his  voice,  and  his  eyes  darted 
lightning. 

Meanwhile  Arcade,  leaning  carelessly  against  the 
Regent's  bureau,  spread  out  under  the  Banker's  eyes 
various  ground-plans,  underground-plans,  and  sky- 
plans  of  Paris  with  red  crosses  indicating  the  points 
where  bombs  should  be  simultaneously  placed  in 
cellars  and  catacombs,  thrown  on  public  ways,  and 
flung  by  a  flotilla  of  aeroplanes.  All  the  financial 
establishments,  and  notably  the  Everdingen  Bank 
and  its  branches  were  marked  with  red  crosses. 

The  financier  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Nonsense  !  you  are  but  wretches  and  vagabonds, 
shadowed  by  all  the  police  of  the  world.  You  are 
penniless.  How  can  you  manufacture  all  the 
machines  ?  " 

By  way  of  reply,  Prince  Istar  drew  from  his  pocket 
a  small  copper  cylinder,  which  he  gracefully  pre- 
sented to  Baron  Everdingen. 

"  You  see,"  said  he,  "  this  ordinary-looking  box. 
It  is  only  necessary  to  let  it  fall  on  the  ground 
immediately  to  reduce  this  mansion  with  its 
inmates  to  a  mass  of  smoking  ashes,  and  to  set  a 
fire  going  which  would  devour  all  the  Trocadero 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     163 

quarter.  I  have  ten  thousand  like  that,  and  I  make 
three  dozen  a  day." 

The  financier  asked  the  Cherub  to  replace  the 
machine  in  his  pocket,  and  continued  in  a  con- 
ciliatory tone : 

"  Listen  to  me,  my  friends.  Go  and  start  a 
revolution  at  once  in  Heaven,  and  leave  things  alone 
in  this  country.  I  will  sign  a  cheque  for  you.  You 
can  procure  all  the  material  you  need  to  attack 
celestial  Jerusalem." 

And  Baron  Everdingen  was  already  working  up 
in  his  imagination  a  magnificent  deal  in  electro- 
phores  and  war-material. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 


WHEREIN  IS  BEGUN  THE  GARDENER'S  STORY,  IN  THE 
COURSE  OF  WHICH  WE  SHALL  SEE  THE  DESTINY  OF 
THE  WORLD  UNFOLDED  IN  A  DISCOURSE  AS 
BROAD  AND  MAGNIFICENT  IN  ITS  VIEWS,  AS 
BOSSUET'S  DISCOURSE  ON  THE  HISTORY  OF  THE 
UNIVERSE  IS  NARROW  AND  DISMAL 


HE  gardener  bade  Arcade  and  Zita 
sit  down  in  an  arbour  walled  with 
wild  bryony,  at  the  far  end  of  the 
orchard. 

"  Arcade,"  said  the  beautiful 
Archangel,  "  Nectaire  will  perhaps  reveal  to  you 
to-day  the  things  you  are  burning  to  know.  Ask 
him  to  speak." 

Arcade  did  so  and  old  Nectaire,  laying  down  his 
pipe,  began  as  follows  : — 

"  I  knew  him.  He  was  the  most  beautiful  of  all 
the  Seraphim.  He  shone  with  intelligence  and 
daring.  His  great  heart  was  big  with  all  the  virtues 
born  of  pride  :  frankness,  courage,  constancy  in  trial, 
indomitable  hope.  Long,  long  ago,  ere  Time  was, 
in  the  boreal  sky  where  gleam  the  seven  magnetic 

164 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    165 

stars,  he  dwelt^in  a  palace  of  diamond  and  gold, 
where  the  air  was  ever  tremulous  with  the  beating 
of  wings  and  with  songs  of  triumph.  lahveh,  on 
his  mountain  was  jealous  of  Lucifer.  You  both 
know  it  :  angels  like  unto  men  feel  love  and  hatred 
quicken  within  them.  Capable,  at  times,  of  generous 
resolves,  they  too  often  follow  their  own  interests 
and  yield  to  fear.  Then,  as  now,  they  showed  them- 
selves, for  the  most  part,  incapable  of  lofty  thoughts, 
and  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord  lay  their  sole  virtue. 
Lucifer,  who  held  vile  things  in  proud  disdain, 
despised  this  rabble  of  commonplace  spirits  for  ever 
wallowing  in  a  life  of  feasts  and  pleasure.  But  to 
those  who  were  possessed  of  a  daring  spirit,  a  restless 
soul,  to  those  fired  with  a  wild  love  of  liberty,  he 
proffered  friendship,  which  was  returned  with 
adoration.  These  latter  deserted  in  a  mass  the 
Mountain  of  God  and  yielded  to  the  Seraph  the 
homage  which  That  Other  would  fain  have  kept  for 
himself  alone. 

"  I  ranked  among  the  Dominations,  and  my  name, 
Alaciel,  was  not  unknown  to  fame.  To  satisfy  my 
mind — that  was  ever  tormented  with  an  insatiable 
thirst  for  knowledge  and  understanding — I  observed 
the  nature  of  things,  I  studied  the  properties  of 
minerals,  air  and  water.  I  sought  out  the  laws  which 
govern  nature,  solid  or  ethereal,  and  after  much 
pondering  I  perceived  that  the  Universe  had  not 


1 66    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

been  formed  as  its  pretended  Creator  would  have 
us  believe  ;  I  knew  that  all  that  exists,  exists  of 
itself  and  not  by  the  caprice  of  lahveh ;  that  the 
world  is  itself  its  own  creator  and  the  spirit  its  own 
God.  Henceforth  I  despised  lahveh  for  his  im- 
posture, and  I  hated  him  because  he  showed  himself 
to  be  opposed  to  all  that  I  found  desirable  and  good  : 
liberty,  curiosity,  doubt.  These  feelings  drew  me 
towards  the  Seraph.  I  admired  him,  I  loved  him. 
I  dwelt  in  his  light.  When  at  length  it  appeared 
that  a  choice  had  to  be  made  between  him  and  That 
Other  I  ranged  myself  on  the  side  of  Lucifer  and 
knew  no  other  aim  than  to  serve  him,  no  other  desire 
than  to  share  his  lot. 

"  War  having  become  inevitable,  he  prepared  for 
it  with  indefatigable  vigilance  and  all  the  resource- 
fulness of  a  far-seeing  mind.  Making  the  Thrones 
and  Dominations  into  Chalybes  and  Cyclopes,  he 
drew  forth  iron  from  the  mountains  bordering  his 
domain  ;  iron,  which  he  valued  more  than  gold, 
and  forged  weapons  in  the  caverns  of  Heaven. 
Then  in  the  desert  plains  of  the  North  he  assembled 
myriads  of  Spirits,  armed  them,  taught  them  and 
drilled  them.  Although  prepared  in  secret,  the 
enterprise  was  too  vast  for  his  adversary  not  to  be 
soon  aware  of  it.  It  might  in  truth  be  said  that 
he  had  always  foreseen  and  dreaded  it,  for  he  had 
made  a  citadel  of  his  abode  and  a  warlike  host  of 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    167 

his  angels,  and  he  gave  himself  the  name  of  the  God 
of  Hosts.  He  made  ready  his  thunderbolts.  More 
than  half  of  the  children  of  Heaven  remained 
faithful  to  him  ;  thronging  round  him  he  beheld 
obedient  souls  and  patient  hearts.  The  Archangel 
Michael,  who  knew  not  fear,  took  command  of 
these  docile  troops.  Lucifer,  as  soon  as  he  saw  that 
his  army  could  gain  no  more  in  numbers  or  in 
warlike  skill,  moved  it  swiftly  against  the  foe,  and 
promising  his  angels  riches  and  glory  marched  at 
their  head  towards  the  mountain  upon  whose 
summit  stands  the  Throne  of  the  Universe.  For 
three  days  our  host  swept  onward  over  the  ethereal 
plains.  Above  our  heads  streamed  the  black 
standards  of  revolt.  And  now,  behold,  the  Moun- 
tain of  God  shone  rosy  in  the  orient  sky  and  our 
chief  scanned  with  his  eyes  the  glittering  ramparts. 
Beneath  the  sapphire  walls  the  foe  was  drawn  up  in 
battle  array,  and,  while  we  marched  clad  in  our  iron 
and  bronze,  they  shone  resplendent  in  gold  and 
precious  stones. 

"  Their  gonfalons  of  red  and  blue  floated  in  the 
breeze,  and  lightning  flashed  from  the  points  of 
their  lances.  In  a  little  while  the  armies  were  only 
sundered  one  from  the  other  by  a  narrow  strip  of 
level  and  deserted  ground,  and  at  this  sight  even 
the  bravest  shuddered  as  they  thought  that  there 
in  bloody  conflict  their  fate  would  soon  be  sealed. 


168    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

"  Angels,  as  you  know,  never  die.  But  when 
bronze  and  iron,  diamond  point  or  flaming  sword 
tear  their  ethereal  substance,  the  pain  they  feel  is 
more  acute  than  men  may  suffer,  for  their  flesh  is 
more  exquisitely  delicate  ;  and  should  some  essential 
organ  be  destroyed,  they  fall  inert  and,  slowly  de- 
composing, are  resolved  into  clouds  and  during  long 
aeons  float  insensible  in  the  cold  ether.  And  when  at 
length  they  resume  spirit  and  form  they  fail  to 
recover  full  memory  of  their  past  life.  Therefore 
it  is  but  natural  that  angels  shrink  from  suffering, 
and  the  bravest  among  them  is  troubled  at  the 
thought  of  being  reft  of  light  and  sweet  remem- 
brance. Were  it  otherwise  the  angelic  race  would 
know  neither  the  delight  of  battle  nor  the  glory  of 
sacrifice.  Those  who,  before  the  beginning  of 
Time,  fought  in  the  Empyrean  for  or  against  the 
God  of  Armies,  would  have  taken  part  without 
honour  in  mock  battles,  and  it  would  not  now  become 
me  to  say  to  you,  my  children,  with  rightful  pride  : 

"  '  Lo,  I  was  there  ! ' 

"  Lucifer  gave  the  signal  for  the  onset  and  led 
the  assault.  We  fell  upon  the  enemy,  thinking  to 
destroy  him  then  and  there  and  carry  the  sacred 
citadel  at  the  first  onslaught.  The  soldiers  of  the 
jealous  God,  less  fiery,  but  no  whit  less  firm  than 
ours,  remained  immovable.  The  Archangel  Michael 
commanded  them  with  the  calmness  and  resolution 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     169 

of  a  mighty  spirit.  Thrice  we  strove  to  break 
through  their  lines,  thrice  they  opposed  to  our  iron- 
clad breasts  the  flaming  points  of  their  lances,  swift 
to  pierce  the  stoutest  cuirass.  In  millions  the 
glorious  bodies  fell.  At  length  our  right  wing 
pierced  the  enemy's  left  and  we  beheld  the  Princi- 
palities, the  Powers,  the  Virtues,  the  Dominations 
and  the  Thrones,  turn  and  flee  in  full  career  ;  while 
the  Angels  of  the  Third  Choir,  flying  distractedly 
above  them,  covered  them  with  a  snow  of  feathers 
mingled  with  a  rain  of  blood.  We  sped  in  pursuit 
of  them  amid  the  debris  of  chariots  and  broken 
weapons,  and  we  spurred  their  nimble  flight. 
Suddenly  a  storm  of  cries  amazed  us.  It  grew 
louder  and  nearer.  With  desperate  shrieks  and 
triumphal  clamour  the  right  wing  of  the  enemy, 
the  giant  archangels  of  the  Most  High,  had  flung 
themselves  upon  our  left  flank  and  broken  it.  Thus 
we  were  forced  to  abandon  the  pursuit  of  the 
fugitives  and  hasten  to  the  rescue  of  our  own 
shattered  troops.  Our  prince  flew  to  rally  them, 
and  re-established  the  conflict.  But  the  left  wing 
of  the  enemy,  whose  ruin  he  had  not  quite  con- 
summated, no  longer  pressed  by  lance  or  arrow, 
regained  courage,  returned,  and  faced  us  yet  again. 
Night  fell  upon  the  dubious  field.  While  under  the 
shelter  of  darkness,  in  the  still,  silent  air  stirred  ever 
and  anon  by  the  moans  of  the  wounded,  his  forces 


i;o    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

were  resting  from  their  toils,  Lucifer  began  to  make 
ready  for  the  next  day's  battle.  Before  dawn  the 
trumpets  sounded  the  reveille.  Our  warriors 
surprised  the  enemy  at  the  hour  of  prayer,  put  them 
to  rout,  and  long  and  fierce  was  the  carnage  that 
ensued.  When  all  had  either  fallen  or  fled,  the 
Archangel  Michael,  none  with  him  save  a  few 
companions  with  four  wings  of  flame,  still  resisted 
the  onslaughts  of  a  countless  host.  They  fell  back 
ceaselessly  opposing  their  breasts  to  us,  and  Michael 
still  displayed  an  impassible  countenance.  The  sun 
had  run  a  third  of  its  course  when  we  commenced 
to  scale  the  Mountain  of  God.  An  arduous  ascent 
it  was  :  sweat  ran  from  our  brows,  a  dazzling  light 
blinded  us.  Weighed  down  with  steel,  our  feathery 
wings  could  not  sustain  us,  but  hope  gave  us  wings 
that  bore  us  up.  The  beautiful  Seraph,  pointing 
with  glittering  hand,  mounting  ever  higher  and 
higher,  showed  us  the  way.  All  day  long  we  slowly 
clomb  the  lofty  heights  which  at  evening  were 
robed  in  azure,  rose  and  violet.  The  starry  host 
appearing  in  the  sky  seemed  as  the  reflection  of  our 
own  arms.  Infinite  silence  reigned  above  us.  We 
went  on,  intoxicated  with  hope  ;  all  at  once  from 
the  darkened  sky  lightning  darted  forth,  the  thun- 
der muttered,  and  from  the  cloudy  mountain-top 
fell  fire  from  Heaven.  Our  helmets,  our  breast- 
plates were  running  with  flames,  and  our  bucklers 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    171 

broke  under  bolts  sped  by  invisible  hands.  Lucifer, 
in  the  storm  of  fire,  retained  his  haughty  mien. 
In  vain  the  lightning  smote  him  ;  mightier  than 
ever  he  stood  erect,  and  still  defied  the  foe. 
At  length,  the  thunder,  making  the  mountain 
totter,  flung  us  down  pell-mell,  huge  fragments  of 
sapphire  and  ruby  crashing  down  with  us  as  we  fell, 
and  we  rolled  inert,  swooning,  for  a  period  whose 
duration  none  could  measure. 


"  I  awoke  in  a  darkness  filled  with  lamentations. 
And  when  my  eyes  had  grown  accustomed  to  the 
dense  shadows  I  saw  round  me  my  companions  in 
arms,  scattered  in  thousands  on  the  sulphurous 
ground,  lit  by  fitful  gleams  of  livid  light.  My 
eyes  perceived  but  fields  of  lava,  smoking  craters 
and  poisonous  swamps. 

"  Mountains  of  ice  and  shadowy  seas  shut  in  the 
horizon.  A  brazen  sky  hung  heavy  on  our  brows. 
And  the  horror  of  the  place  was  such  that  we  wept 
as  we  sat,  crouched  elbow  on  knee,  our  cheeks 
resting  on  our  clenched  hands. 

:'  But  soon,  raising  my  eyes,  I  beheld  the  Seraph 
standing  before  me  like  a  tower.  Over  his  pristine 
splendour  sorrow  had  cast  its  mantle  of  sombre 
majesty. 

"  '  Comrades,'  said  he,  '  we  must  be  happy  and 
M 


172    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

rejoice,  for  behold  we  are  delivered  from  celestial 
servitude.  Here  we  are  free,  and  it  were  better  to 
be  free  in  Hell  than  serve  in  Heaven.  We  are  not 
conquered,  since  the  will  to  conquer  is  still  ours. 
We  have  caused  the  Throne  of  the  jealous  God  to 
totter  ;  by  our  hands  it  shall  fall.  Arise,  therefore, 
and  be  of  good  heart.' 

"  Thereupon,  at  his  command,  we  piled  mountain 
upon  mountain  and  on  the  topmost  peak  we  reared 
engines  which  flung  molten  rocks  against  the  divine 
habitations.  The  celestial  host  was  taken  unawares 
and  from  the  abodes  of  glory  there  issued  groans 
and  cries  of  terror.  And  even  then  we  thought  to 
re-enter  in  triumph  on  our  high  estate,  but  the 
Mountain  of  God  was  wreathed  with  lightnings, 
and  thunderbolts,  falling  on  our  fortress,  crushed 
it  to  dust.  After  this  fresh  disaster,  the  Seraph 
remained  awhile  in  meditation,  his  head  buried  in 
his  hands.  At  length  he  raised  his  darkened  visage. 
Now  he  was  Satan,  greater  than  Lucifer.  Steadfast 
and  loyal  the  angels  thronged  about  him. 

"  t  Friends,'  he  said,  '  if  victory  is  denied  us  now, 
it  is  because  we  are  neither  worthy  nor  capable  of 
victory.  Let  us  determine  wherein  we  have  failed. 
Nature  shall  not  be  ruled,  the  sceptre  of  the  Universe 
shall  not  be  grasped,  Godhead  shall  not  be  won,  save 
by  knowledge  alone.  We  must  conquer  the  thunder ; 
to  that  task  we  must  apply  ourselves  unwearyingly. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     173 

It  is  not  blind  courage  (no  one  this  day  has  shown 
more  courage  than  have  you)  which  will  win  us  the 
courts  of  Heaven;  but  rather  study  and  reflection. 
In  these  silent  realms  where  we  are  fallen,  let  us 
meditate,  seeking  the  hidden  causes  of  things ;  let 
us  observe  the  course  of  Nature  ;  let  us  pursue  her 
with  compelling  ardour  and  all-conquering  desire  ; 
let  us  strive  to  penetrate  her  infinite  grandeur,  her 
infinite  minuteness.  Let  us  seek  to  know  when  she 
is  barren  and  when  she  brings  forth  fruit ;  how  she 
makes  cold  and  heat,  joy  and  sorrow,  life  and  death  ; 
how  she  assembles  and  disperses  her  elements,  how 
she  produces  both  the  light  air  we  breathe  and  the 
rocks  of  diamond  and  sapphire  whence  we  have 
been  precipitated,  the  divine  fire  wherewith  we 
have  been  scarred  and  the  soaring  thought  which 
stirs  our  minds.  Torn  with  dire  wounds,  scorched 
by  flame  and  by  ice,  let  us  render  thanks  to  Fate 
which  has  sedulously  opened  our  eyes,  and  let  us 
rejoice  at  our  lot.  It  is  through  pain  that,  suffering 
a  first  experience  of  Nature,  we  have  been  roused 
to  know  her  and  to  subdue  her.  When  she  obeys  us 
we  shall  be  as  gods.  But  even  though  she  hide  her 
mysteries  for  ever  from  us,  deny  us  arms  and  keep 
the  secret  of  the  thunder,  we  still  must  needs 
congratulate  ourselves  on  having  known  pain,  for 
pain  has  revealed  to  us  new  feelings,  more  precious 
and  more  sweet  than  those  experienced  in  eternal 


174    THE    REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

bliss,  and  inspired  us  with  love  and  pity  unknown  to 
Heaven.' 

"  These  words  of  the  Seraph  changed  our  hearts 
and  opened  up  fresh  hope  to  us.  Our  hearts  were 
filled  with  a  great  longing  for  knowledge  and  love. 

"  Meanwhile  the  Earth  was  coming  into  being. 
Its  immense  and  nebulous  orb  took  on  hourly  more 
shape  and  more  certainty  of  outline.  The  waters 
which  fed  the  seaweed,  the  madrepores  and  shell- 
fish, and  bore  the  light  flotilla  of  the  nautilus  upon 
their  bosom,  no  longer  covered  it  in  its  entirety ; 
they  began  to  sink  into  beds,  and  already  continents 
appeared,  where,  on  the  warm  slime,  amphibious 
monsters  crawled.  Then  the  mountains  were 
overspread  with  forests,  and  divers  races  of  animals 
commenced  to  feed  on  the  grass,  the  moss,  the 
berries  on  the  trees,  and  on  the  acorns.  Then  there 
took  possession  of  cavernous  shelters  under  the  rocks, 
a  being  who  was  cunning  to  wound  with  a  sharpened 
stone  the  savage  beasts,  and  by  his  ruses  to  overcome 
the  ancient  denizens  of  forest,  plain  and  mountain. 

"  Man  entered  painfully  on  his  kingdom.  He  was 
defenceless  and  naked.  His  scanty  hair  afforded  him 
but  little  protection  from  the  cold.  His  hands 
ended  in  nails  too  frail  to  do  battle  with  the  claws 
of  wild  beasts,  but  the  position  of  his  thumb,  in 
opposition  to  the  rest  of  his  fingers,  allowed  him- 
easily  to  grasp  the  most  diverse  objects  and  endowed 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    175 

him  with  skill  in  default  of  strength.  Without 
differing  essentially  from  the  rest  of  the  animals, 
he  was  more  capable  than  any  others  of  observing 
and  comparing.  As  he  drew  from  his  throat  various 
sounds,  it  occurred  to  him  to  designate  by  a  par- 
ticular inflexion  of  the  voice  whatever  impinged 
upon  his  mind,  and  by  this  sequence  of  different 
sounds  he  was  enabled  to  fix  and  communicate  his 
ideas.  His  miserable  lot  and  his  painstaking  spirit 
aroused  the  sympathy  of  the  vanquished  angels, 
who  discerned  in  him  an  audacity  equalling  their 
own,  and  the  germ  of  the  pride  that  was  at  once 
their  glory  and  their  bane.  They  came  in  large 
numbers  to  be  near  him,  to  dwell  on  this  young 
earth  whither  their  wings  wafted  them  in  effortless 
flight.  And  they  took  pleasure  in  sharpening  his 
talents  and  fostering  his  genius.  They  taught  him 
to  clothe  himself  in  the  skins  of  wild  beasts,  to  roll 
stones  before  the  mouths  of  caves  to  keep  out 
the  tigers  and  bears.  They  taught  him  how  to  make 
the  flame  burst  forth  by  twirling  a  stick  among 
the  dried  leaves  and  to  foster  the  sacred  fire  upon 
the  hearth.  Inspired  by  the  ingenious  spirits  he 
dared  to  cross  the  rivers  in  the  hollowed  trunks  of 
cleft  trees,  he  invented  the  wheel,  the  grinding-mill 
and  the  plough  ;  the  share  tore  up  the  earth  and  the 
wound  brought  forth  fruit,  and  the  grain  offered  to 
him  who  ground  it  divine  nourishment.  He 


i/6    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

moulded  vessels  in  clay,  and  out  of  the  flint  he 
fashioned  various  tools. 

"  In  fine,  taking  up  our  abode  among  mankind, 
we  consoled  them  and  taught  them.  We  were  not 
always  visible  to  them,  but  of  an  evening,  at  the 
turn  of  the  road,  we  would  appear  to  them  under 
forms  often  strange  and  weird,  at  times  dignified 
and  charming,  and  we  adopted  at  will  the  appearance 
of  a  monster  of  the  woods  and  waters,  of  a  venerable 
old  man,  of  a  beautiful  child  or  of  a  woman  with 
broad  hips.  Sometimes  we  would  mock  them  in 
our  songs  or  test  their  intelligence  by  some  cunning 
prank.  There  were  certain  of  us  of  a  rather  turbu- 
lent humour  who  loved  to  tease  their  women  and 
children,  but  though  lowly  folk,  they  were  our 
brothers,  and  we  were  never  loth  to  come  to  their 
aid.  Through  our  care  their  intelligence  developed 
sufficiently  to  attain  to  mistaken  ideas,  and  to 
acquire  erroneous  notions  of  the  relations  of  cause 
and  effect.  As  they  supposed  that  some  magic  bond 
existed  between  the  reality  and  its  counterfeit 
presentment,  they  covered  the  walls  of  their  caves 
with  figures  of  animals  and  carved  in  ivory  images 
of  the  reindeer  and  the  mammoth  in  order  to 
secure  as  prey  the  creatures  they  represented. 
Centuries  passed  by  with  infinite  slowness  while 
their  genius  was  coming  to  birth.  We  sent  them 
happy  thoughts  in  dreams,  inspired  them  to  tame 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    177 

the  horse,  to  castrate  the  bull,  to  teach  the  dog  to 
guard  the  sheep.  They  created  the  family  and  the 
tribe.  It  came  to  pass  one  day  that  one  of  their 
wandering  tribes  was  assailed  by  ferocious  hunters. 
Forthwith  the  young  men  of  the  tribe  formed  an 
enclosed  ring  with  their  chariots,  and  in  it  they  shut 
their  women,  children,  old  people,  cattle  and 
treasures,  and  from  the  platform  of  their  chariots 
they  hurled  murderous  stones  at  their  assailants. 
Thus  was  formed  the  first  city.  Born  in  misery  and 
condemned  to  do  murder  by  the  law  of  lahveh,  man 
put  his  whole  heart  into  doing  battle,  and  to  war  he 
was  indebted  for  his  noblest  virtues.  He  hallowed 
with  his  blood  that  sacred  love  of  country  which 
should  (if  man  fulfils  his  destiny  to  the  very  end) 
enfold  the  whole  earth  in  peace.  One  of  us,  Dae- 
dalus, brought  him  the  axe,  the  plumb-line  and  the 
sail.  Thus  we  rendered  the  existence  of  mortals  less 
hard  and  difficult.  By  the  shores  of  the  lakes  they 
built  dwellings  of  osier,  where  they  might  enjoy  a 
meditative  quiet  unknown  to  the  other  inhabitants 
of  the  earth,  and  when  they  had  learned  to  appease 
their  hunger  without  too  painful  efforts  we  breathed 
into  their  hearts  the  love  of  beauty. 

"  They  raised  up  pyramids,  obelisks,  towers, 
colossal  statues  which  smiled  stiff  and  uncouth,  and 
genetic  symbols.  Having  learnt  to  know  us  or 
trying  at  least  to  divine  what  manner  of  beings  we 


1 78    THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

were,  they  felt  both  friendship  and  fear  for  us. 
The  wisest  among  them  watched  us  with  sacred  awe 
and  pondered  our  teaching.  In  their  gratitude  the 
people  of  Greece  and  of  Asia  consecrated  to  us 
stones,  trees,  shadowy  woods ;  offered  us  victims, 
and  sang  us  hymns ;  in  fact  we  became  gods  in  their 
sight,  and  they  called  us  Horus,  Isis,  Astarte,  Zeus, 
Cybele,  Demeter  and  Triptolemus.  Satan  was 
worshipped  under  the  names  of  Evan,  Dionysus, 
lacchus  and  Lenseus.  He  showed  in  his  various 
manifestations  all  the  strength  and  beauty  which 
it  is  given  to  mortals  to  conceive.  His  eyes  had  the 
weetness  of  the  wood-violet,  his  lips  were  brilliants 
with  the  ruby-red  of  the  pomegranate,  a  down  finer 
than  the  velvet  of  the  peach  covered  his  cheeks  and 
his  chin  :  his  fair  hair,  wound  like  a  diadem  and 
knotted  loosely  on  the  crown  of  his  head,  was  en- 
circled with  ivy.  He  charmed  the  wild  beasts,  and 
penetrating  into  the  deep  forests  drew  to  him  all 
wild  spirits,  every  thing  that  climbed  in  trees  and 
peered  through  the  branches  with  wild  and  timid  gaze. 
On  all  these  creatures  fierce  and  fearful,  that  lived 
on  bitter  berries  and  beneath  whose  hairy  breasts  a 
wild  heart  beat,  half -human  creatures  of  the  woods — 
on  all  he  bestowed  loving-kindness  and  grace,  and 
they  followed  him  drunk  with  joy  and  beauty.  He 
planted  the  vine  and  showed  mortals  how  to  crush 
the  grapes  underfoot  to  make  the  wine  flow. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    179 

Magnificent  and  benign,  he  fared  across  the  world, 
a  long  procession  following  in  his  train.  To  bear 
him  company  I  took  the  form  of  a  satyr  ;  from  my 
brow  sprang  two  budding  horns.  My  nose  was  flat 
and  my  ears  were  pointed.  Glands,  like  those  of  the 
goat,  hung  on  my  neck,  a  goat's  tail  moved  with  my 
moving  loins,  and  my  hairy  legs  ended  in  a  black 
cloven  hoof  which  beat  the  ground  in  cadence. 

"  Dionysus  fared  on  his  triumphal  march  over 
the  world.  In  his  company  I  passed  through  Lydia, 
the  Phrygian  fields,  the  scorching  plains  of  Persia, 
Media  bristling  with  hoar-frost,  Arabia  Felix  and 
rich  Asia  where  flourishing  cities  were  laved  by  the 
waves  of  the  sea.  He  proceeded  on  a  car  drawn  by 
lions  and  lynxes,  to  the  sound  of  flutes,  cymbals  and 
drums,  invented  for  his  mysteries.  Bacchantes, 
Thyades,  and  Maenads,  girt  with  the  dappled  fawn- 
skin,  waved  the  thyrsus  encircled  with  ivy.  He  bore 
in  his  train  the  Satyrs,  whose  joyous  troop  I  led, 
Sileni,  Pans  and  Centaurs.  Under  his  feet  flowers 
and  fruit  sprang  to  life,  and  striking  the  rocks  with 
his  wand  he  made  limpid  streams  gush  forth.  In 
the  month  of  the  Vintage  he  visited  Greece,  and 
the  villagers  ran  forth  to  meet  him,  stained  with  the 
green  and  ruddy  juices  of  the  plants.  They  wore 
masks  of  wood,  or  bark,  or  leaves ;  in  their  hands 
they  bore  earthen  cups,  and  danced  wanton  dances. 
Their  womenfolk,  imitating  the  companions  of  the 


i8o    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

God,  their  heads  wreathed  with  green  smilax, 
fastened  round  their  supple  loins  skins  of  fawn  or 
goat.  The  virgins  twined  about  their  throats 
garlands  of  fig  leaves,  they  kneaded  cakes  of  flour, 
and  bore  the  Phallus  in  the  mystic  basket.  And  the 
vine-dressers,  all  daubed  with  lees  of  wine,  standing 
up  in  their  wains  and  bandying  mockery  or  abuse 
with  the  passers-by,  invented  Tragedy. 

"  Truly,  it  was  not  in  dreaming  beside  a  fountain, 
but  by  dint  of  strenuous  toil  that  Dionysus  taught 
them  to  grow  plants  and  to  make  them  bring  forth 
succulent  fruits.  And  while  he  pondered  the  art 
of  transforming  the  rough  woodlanders  into  a  race 
that  should  love  music  and  submit  to  just  laws, 
more  than  once  over  his  brow,  burning  with  the  fire 
of  enthusiasm,  did  melancholy  and  gloomy  fever 
pass.  But  his  profound  knowledge  and  his  friend- 
ship for  mankind  enabled  him  to  triumph  over 
every  obstacle.  O  days  divine  !  Beautiful  dawn  of 
life  !  We  led  the  Bacchanals  on  the  leafy  summits 
of  the  mountains  and  on  the  yellow  shores  of  the 
seas.  The  Naiads  and  the  Oreads  mingled  with  us 
at  our  play.  Aphrodite  at  our  coming  rose  from 
the  foam  of  the  sea  to  smile  upon  us." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  GARDENER'S  STORY,  CONTINUED 

HEN  men  had  learned  to  cultivate 
the  earth,  to  herd  cattle,  to  en- 
close their  holy  places  within  walls, 
and  to  recognise  the  gods  by  their 
beauty,  I  withdrew  to  that  smiling 
land  girdled  with  dark  woods  and  watered  by  the 
Stymphalos,  the  Olbios,  the  Erymanthus  and  the 
proud  Crathis,  swollen  with  the  icy  waters  of  the 
Styx,  and  there,  in  a  green  valley  at  the  foot  of  a 
hill  planted  with  arbutus,  olive  and  pine,  beneath 
a  cluster  of  white  poplars  and  plane  trees,  by  the 
side  of  a  stream  flowing  with  soft  murmur  amid 
tufted  mastic  trees,  I  sang  to  the  shepherds  and  the 
nymphs  of  the  birth  of  the  world,  the  origin  of  fire, 
of  the  tenuous  air,  of  water  and  of  earth.  I  told 
them  how  primeval  men  had  lived  wretched  and 
naked  in  the  woods,  before  the  ingenious  spirits  had 
taught  them  the  arts  ;  of  God,  too,  I  sang  to  them, 
and  why  they  gave  Dionysus  Semele  to  mother, 
because  his  desire  to  befriend  mankind  was  born 

amid  the  thunder. 

ill 


"  It  was  not  without  effort  that  this  people,  more 
pleasing  than  all  the  others  in  the  eyes  of  the  gods, 
these  happy  Greeks,  achieved  good  government  and 
a  knowledge  of  the  arts.  Their  first  temple  was  a 
hut  composed  of  laurel  branches ;  their  first  image 
of  the  gods,  a  tree  ;  their  first  altar,  a  rough  stone 
stained  with  the  blood  of  Iphigenia.  But  in  a  short 
time  they  brought  wisdom  and  beauty  to  a  point 
that  no  nation  had  attained  before  them,  that  no 
nation  has  since  approached.  Whence  comes  it, 
Arcade,  this  solitary  marvel  on  the  earth  ?  Where- 
fore did  the  sacred  soil  of  Ionia  and  of  Attica  bring 
forth  this  incomparable  flower  ?  Because  nor 
priesthood,  nor  dogma,  nor  revelation  ever  found  a 
place  there,  because  the  Greeks  never  knew  the 
jealous  God. 

"  It  was  his  own  grace,  his  own  genius  that  the 
Greek  enthroned  and  deified  as  his  God,  and  when 
he  raised  his  eyes  to  the  heavens  it  was  his  own 
image  that  he  saw  reflected  there.  He  conceived 
everything  in  due  measure;  and  to  his  temples  he 
gave  perfect  proportion.  All  therein  was  grace, 
harmony,  symmetry  and  wisdom  ;  all  were  worthy 
of  the  immortals  who  dwelt  within  them  and  who 
under  names  of  happy  choice,  in  realised  shapes, 
figured  forth  the  genius  of  man.  The  columns 
which  bore  the  marble  architrave,  the  frieze  and 
the  cornice  were  touched  with  something  human, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    183 

which  made  them  venerable ;  and  sometimes  one 
might  see,  as  at  Athens  and  at  Delphi,  beautiful 
young  girls  strong-limbed  and  radiant  upstaying  the 
entablature  of  treasure  house  and  sanctuary.  O  days 
of  splendour,  harmony  and  wisdom  ! 

"  Dionysus  resolved  to  repair  to  Italy,  whither  he 
was  summoned  under  the  name  of  Bacchus  by  a 
people  eager  to  celebrate  his  mysteries.  I  took 
passage  in  his  ship  decked  with  tendrils  of  the  vine, 
and  landed  under  the  eyes  of  the  two  brothers  of 
Helen  at  the  mouth  of  the  yellow  Tiber.  Already 
under  the  teaching  of  the  god,  the  inhabitants  of 
Latium  had  learned  to  wed  the  vine  to  the  young 
stripling  elm.  It  was  my  pleasure  to  dwell  at  the 
foot  of  the  Sabine  hills  in  a  valley  crowned  with 
trees  and  watered  with  pure  springs.  I  gathered 
the  verbena  and  the  mallow  in  the  meadows.  The 
pale  olive-trees  twisting  their  perforated  trunks  on 
the  slope  of  the  hill  gave  me  of  their  unctuous  fruit. 
There  I  taught  a  race  of  men  with  square  heads, 
who  had  not,  like  the  Greeks,  a  fertile  mind,  but 
whose  hearts  were  true,  whose  souls  were  patient, 
and  who  reverenced  the  gods.  My  neighbour,  a 
rustic  soldier,  who  for  fifteen  years  had  bowed 
under  the  burden  of  his  haversack,  had  followed 
the  Roman  eagle  over  land  and  sea,  and  had  seen 
the  enemies  of  the  sovereign  people  flee  before  him. 
Now  he  drove  his  furrow  with  his  two  red  oxen, 


184    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

starred  with  white  between  their  spreading  horns, 
while  beneath  the  cabin's  thatch  his  spouse,  chaste 
and  sedate  of  mien,  pounded  garlic  in  a  bronze 
mortar  and  cooked  the  beans  upon  the  sacred  hearth. 
And  I,  his  friend,  seated  near  by  under  an  oak,  used 
to  lighten  his  labours  with  the  sound  of  my  flute,  and 
smile  on  his  little  children,  when  the  sun,  already 
low  in  the  sky,  was  lengthening  the  shadows,  and 
they  returned  from  the  wood  all  laden  with  branches. 
At  the  garden  gate  where  the  pears  and  pumpkins 
ripened,  and  where  the  lily  and  the  evergreen 
acanthus  bloomed,  a  figure  of  Priapus  carved  out 
of  the  trunk  of  a  fig  tree  menaced  thieves  with  his 
formidable  emblem,  and  the  reeds  swaying  with  the 
wind  over  his  head  scared  away  the  plundering  birds. 
At  new  moon  the  pious  husbandman  made  offering 
of  a  handful  of  salt  and  barley  to  his  household 
gods  crowned  with  myrtle  and  with  rosemary. 

"  I  saw  his  children  grow  up,  and  his  children's 
children,  who  kept  in  their  hearts  their  early  piety 
and  did  not  forget  to  offer  sacrifice  to  Bacchus,  to 
Diana  and  to  Venus,  nor  omit  to  pour  fresh  wines 
and  scatter  flowers  into  the  fountains.  But  slowly 
they  fell  away  from  their  old  habits  of  patient  toil 
and  simplicity. 

"  I  heard  them  complain  when  the  torrent, 
swollen  with  many  rains,  compelled  them  to  con- 
struct a  dyke  to  protect  the  paternal  fields,  and  the 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     185 

rough  Sabine  wine  grew  unpleasing  to  their  delicate 
palate.  They  went  to  drink  the  wines  of  Greece  at 
the  neighbouring  tavern  ;  and  the  hours  slipped 
unheeded  by,  while  within  the  arbour  shade  they 
watched  the  dance  of  the  flute  player,  practised  at 
swaying  her  supple  limbs  to  the  sound  of  the 
castanets. 

"  Lulled  by  murmuring  leaves  and  whispering 
streams,  the  tillers  of  the  soil  took  sweet  repose,  but 
between  the  poplars  we  saw  along  borders  of  the 
sacred  way  vast  tombs,  statues  and  altars  arise,  and 
the  rolling  of  the  chariot  wheels  grew  more  frequent 
over  the  worn  stones.  A  cherry  sapling  brought 
home  by  a  veteran  told  us  of  the  far-distant  con- 
quests of  a  Consul,  and  odes  sung  to  the  lyre 
related  the  victories  of  Rome,  mistress  of  the 
world. 

"  All  the  countries  where  the  great  Dionysus  had 
journeyed,  changing  wild  beasts  into  men,  and 
making  the  fruit  and  grain  bloom  and  ripen  beneath 
the  passing  of  his  Maenads,  now  breathed  the  Pax 
Romana.  The  nursling  of  the  she- wolf,  soldier  and 
labourer,  friend  of  conquered  nations,  laid  out  roads 
from  the  margin  of  the  misty  sea  to  the  rocky  slopes 
of  the  Caucasus ;  in  every  town  rose  the  temple  of 
Augustus  and  of  Rome,  and  such  was  the  universal 
faith  in  Latin  justice  that  in  the  gorges  of  Thessaly 
or  on  the  wooded  borders  of  the  Rhine,  the  slave, 


1 86    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

ready  to  succumb  under  his  iniquitous  burden, 
called  aloud  on  the  name  of  Caesar. 

"  But  why  must  it  be  that  on  this  ill-starred  globe 
of  land  and  water,  all  should  perish  and  die  and  the 
fairest  things  be  ever  the  most  fleeting  ?  O  adorable 
daughters  of  Greece  !  O  Science !  O  Wisdom !  O 
Beauty  !  kindly  divinities,  you  were  wrapt  in  heavy 
slumber  ere  you  submitted  to  the  outrages  of  the 
barbarians,  who  already  in  the  marshy  wastes  of  the 
North  and  on  the  lonely  steppes,  ready  to  assail  you, 
bestrode  bare-backed  their  little  shaggy  horses. 

"  While,  dear  Arcade,  the  patient  legionary 
camped  by  the  borders  of  the  Phasis  and  the  Tanais, 
the  women  and  the  priests  of  Asia  and  of  monstrous 
Africa  invaded  the  Eternal  City  and  troubled  the 
sons  of  Remus  with  their  magic  spells.  Until  now, 
lahveh,  the  persecutor  of  the  laborious  demons, 
was  unknown  to  the  world  that  he  pretended  to 
have  created,  save  to  certain  miserable  Syrian  tribes, 
ferocious  like  himself,  and  perpetually  dragged  from 
servitude  to  servitude.  Profiting  by  the  Roman 
peace  which  assured  free  travel  and  traffic  every- 
where, and  favoured  the  exchange  of  ideas  and 
merchandise,  this  old  God  insolently  made  ready  to 
conquer  the  Universe.  He  was  not  the  only  one, 
for  the  matter  of  that,  to  attempt  such  an  under- 
taking. At  the  same  time  a  crowd  of  gods,  demiurges, 
and  demons,  such  as  Mithra,  Thammuz,  the  good 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    187 

Isis,  and  Eubulus,  meditated  taking  possession  of 
the  peace-enfolded  world.  Of  all  the  spirits,  lahveh 
appeared  the  least  prepared  for  victory.  His 
ignorance,  his  cruelty,  his  ostentation,  his  Asiatic 
luxury,  his  disdain  of  laws,  his  affectation  of  render- 
ing himself  invisible,  all  these  things  were  calculated 
to  offend  those  Greeks  and  Latins  who  had  absorbed 
the  teaching  of  Dionysus  and  the  Muses.  He  himself 
felt  he  was  incapable  of  winning  the  allegiance  of 
free  men  and  of  cultivated  minds,  and  he  employed 
cunning.  To  seduce  their  souls  he  invented  a  fable 
which,  although  not  so  ingenious  as  the  myths 
wherewith  we  have  surrounded  the  spirits  of  our 
disciples  of  old,  could,  nevertheless,  influence  those 
feebler  intellects  which  are  to  be  found  everywhere 
in  great  masses.  He  declared  that  men  having 
committed  a  crime  against  him,  an  hereditary 
crime,  should  pay  the  penalty  for  it  in  their  present 
life  and  in  the  life  to  come  (for  mortals  vainly 
imagine  that  their  existence  is  prolonged  in  hell) ; 
and  the  astute  lahveh  gave  out  that  he  had  sent  his 
own  son  to  earth  to  redeem  with  his  blood  the  debt 
of  mankind.  It  is  not  credible  that  a  penalty  should 
redress  a  fault,  and  it  is  still  less  credible  that  the 
innocent  should  pay  for  the  guilty.  The  sufferings 
of  the  innocent  atone  for  nothing,  and  do  but  add 
one  evil  to  another.  Nevertheless,  unhappy  creatures 
were  found  to  adore  lahveh  and  his  son,  the  ex- 


1 88    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

piator,  and  to  announce  their  mysteries  as  good 
tidings.  We  should  not  be  surprised  at  this  folly. 
Have  we  not  seen  many  times  indeed  human  beings 
who,-  poor  and  naked,  prostrate  themselves  before 
all  the  phantoms  of  fear,  and  rather  than  follow  the 
teaching  of  well-disposed  demons,  obey  the  com- 
mandments of  cruel  demiurges  ?  lahveh,  by  his 
cunning,  took  souls  as  in  a  net.  But  he  did  not 
gain  therefrom,  for  his  glorification,  all  that  he 
expected.  It  was  not  he,  but  his  son,  who  received 
the  homage  of  mankind,  and  who  gave  his  name  to 
the  new  cult.  He  himself  remained  almost  unknown 
upon  earth." 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  GARDENER'S  STORY,  CONTINUED 

HE  new  superstition  spread  at  first 
over  Syria  and  Africa ;  it  won 
over  the  seaports  where  the  filthy 
rabble  swarm,  and,  penetrating 
into  Italy,  infected  at  first  the 
courtesans  and  the  slaves,  and  then  made  rapid 
progress  among  the  middle  classes  of  the  towns. 
But  for  a  long  while  the  country-side  remained  un- 
disturbed. As  in  the  past,  the  villagers  consecrated 
a  pine  tree  to  Diana,  and  sprinkled  it  every  year 
with  the  blood  of  a  young  boar  ;  they  propitiated 
their  Lares  with  the  sacrifice  of  a  sow,  and  offered 
to  Bacchus — benefactor  of  mankind — a  kid  of 
dazzling  whiteness,  or  if  they  were  too  poor  for  this, 
at  least  they  had  a  little  wine  and  a  little  flour  from 
the  vineyard  and  from  the  fields  for  their  household 
gods.  We  had  taught  them  that  it  sufficed  to 
approach  the  altar  with  clean  hands,  and  that  the 
gods  rejoiced  over  a  modest  offering. 

"  Nevertheless,  the  reign  of  lahveh  proclaimed 

its  advent  in  a  hundred  places  by  its  extravagances. 

189 


190    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

The  Christians  burnt  books,  overthrew  temples,  set 
fire  to  the  towns,  and  carried  on  their  ravages  as  far 
as  the  deserts.  There,  thousands  of  unhappy  beings, 
turning  their  fury  against  themselves,  lacerated 
their  sides  with  points  of  steel.  And  from  the  whole 
earth  the  sighs  of  voluntary  victims  rose  up  to  God 
like  songs  of  praise. 

"  My  shadowy  retreat  could  not  escape  for  long 
from  the  fury  of  their  madness. 

"  On  the  summit  of  the  hill  which  overlooked  the 
olive  woods,  brightened  daily  with  the  sounds  of  my 
flute,  had  stood  since  the  earliest  days  of  the  Pax 
Romana,  a  small  marble  temple,  round  as  the  huts 
of  our  forefathers.  It  had  no  walls,  but  on  a  base 
of  seven  steps,  sixteen  columns  rose  in  a  circle  with 
the  acanthus  on  the  capitals,  bearing  a  cupola  of 
white  tiles.  This  cupola  sheltered  a  statue  of  Love 
fashioning  his  bow,  the  work  of  an  Athenian 
sculptor.  The  child  seemed  to  breathe,  joy  was 
welling  from  his  lips,  all  his  limbs  were  harmonious 
and  polished.  I  honoured  this  image  of  the  most 
powerful  of  all  the  gods,  and  I  taught  the  villagers 
to  bear  to  him  as  an  offering  a  cup  crowned  with 
verbena  and  filled  with  wine  two  summers  old. 

"  One  day,  when  seated  as  my  custom  was 
at  the  feet  of  the  god,  pondering  precepts  and 
songs,  an  unknown  man,  wild-looking,  with  unkempt 
hair,  approached  the  temple,  sprang  at  one  bound 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     191 

up  the  marble  steps,  and  with  savage  glee  ex- 
claimed : 

"  '  Die,  poisoner  of  souls,  and  joy  and  beauty 
perish  with  you.'  He  spoke  thus,  and  drawing  an 
axe  from  his  girdle  raised  it  against  the  god.  I 
stayed  his  arm,  I  threw  him  down,  and  trampled 
him  under  my  feet. 

"  '  Demon,'  he  cried  desperately,  '  suffer  me  to 
overturn  this  idol,  and  you  may  slay  me  afterwards.' 

"  I  heeded  not  his  atrocious  plea,  but  leaned  with 
all  my  might  on  his  chest,  which  cracked  under  my 
knee,  and,  squeezing  his  throat  with  my  two  hands, 
I  strangled  the  impious  one. 

"  While  he  lay  there,  with  purple  face  and  lolling 
tongue,  at  the  feet  of  the  smiling  god,  I  went  to 
purify  myself  at  the  sacred  stream.  Then  leaving 
this  land,  now  the  prey  of  the  Christian,  I  passed 
through  Gaul  and  gained  the  banks  of  the  Saone, 
whither  Dionysus  had,  in  days  gone  by,  carried  the 
vine.  The  god  of  the  Christians  had  not  yet  been 
proclaimed  to  this  happy  people.  They  worshipped 
for  its  beauty  a  leafy  beech-tree,  whose  honoured 
branches  swept  the  ground,  and  they  hung  fillets  of 
wool  thereon.  They  also  worshipped  a  sacred 
stream  and  set  up  images  of  clay  in  a  dripping  grotto. 
They  made  offering  of  little  cheeses  and  a  bowl  of 
milk  to  the  Nymphs  of  the  woods  and  mountains. 

"  But  soon  an  apostle  of  sorrow  was  sent  to  them 


192    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

by  the  new  God.  He  was  drier  than  a  smoked  fish. 
Although  attenuated  with  fasting  and  watching, 
he  taught  with  unabated  ardour  all  manner  of 
gloomy  mysteries.  He  loved  suffering,  and  thought 
it  good  ;  his  anger  fell  upon  all  that  was  beautiful, 
comely  and  joyous.  The  sacred  tree  fell  beneath 
his  hatchet.  He  hated  the  Nymphs,  because  they 
were  beautiful,  and  he  flung  imprecations  at  them 
when  their  shining  limbs  gleamed  among  the  leaves 
at  evening,  and  he  held  my  melodious  flute  in 
aversion.  The  poor  wretch  thought  that  there 
were  certain  forms  of  words  wherewith  to  put  to 
flight  the  deathless  spirits  that  dwell  in  the  cool 
groves,  and  in  the  depths  of  the  woods  and  on  the 
tops  of  the  mountains.  He  thought  to  conquer  us 
with  a  few  drops  of  water  over  which  he  had  pro- 
nounced certain  words  and  made  certain  gestures. 
The  Nymphs,  to  avenge  themselves,  appeared  to 
him  at  nightfall  and  inflamed  him  with  desire  which 
the  foolish  knave  thought  animal ;  then  they  fled, 
their  laughter  scattered  like  grain  over  the  fields, 
while  their  victim  lay  tossing  with  burning  limbs  on 
his  couch  of  leaves.  Thus  do  the  divine  nymphs 
laugh  at  exercisers,  and  mock  the  wicked  and  their 
sordid  chastity. 

"  The  apostle  did  not  do  as  much  harm  as  he 
wished,  because  his  teaching  was  given  to  the  simple 
souls  living  in  obedience  to  Nature,  and  because  the 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    193 

mediocrity  of  most  of  mankind  is  such  that  they  gain 
but  little  from  the  principles  inculcated  in  them. 
The  little  wood  in  which  I  dwelt  belonged  to  a  Gaul 
of  senatorial  family,  who  retained  some  traces  of 
Latin  elegance.  He  loved  his  young  freed-woman 
and  shared  with  her  his  bed  of  broidered  purple. 
His  slaves  cultivated  his  garden  and  his  vineyard ; 
he  was  a  poet  and  sang,  in  imitation  of  Ausonius, 
Venus  whipping  her  son  with  roses.  Although  a 
Christian,  he  offered  me  milk,  fruit  and  vegetables 
as  if  I  were  the  genius  of  the  place.  In  return  I 
charmed  his  idle  moments  with  the  music  of  my 
flute,  and  I  gave  him  happy  dreams.  In  fact,  these 
peaceful  Gauls  knew  very  little  of  lahveh  and  his 


son. 
« 


But  now  behold  fires  looming  on  the  horizon, 
and  ashes  driven  by  the  wind  fall  within  our  forest 
glades.  Peasants  come  driving  a  long  file  of  waggons 
along  the  roads  or  urging  their  flocks  before  them. 
Cries  of  terror  rise  from  the  villages,  '  The  Bur- 
gundians  are  upon  us  ! ' 

"  Now  one  horseman  is  seen,  lance  in  hand,  clad 
in  shining  bronze,  his  long  red  hair  falling  in  two 
plaits  on  his  shoulders.  Then  come  two,  then 
twenty,  then  thousands,  wild  and  blood-stained  ; 
old  men  and  children  they  put  to  the  sword,  ay, 
even  aged  grandams  whose  grey  hairs  cleave  to  the 
soles  of  the  slaughterer's  boots,  mingled  with  the 


194    THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

brains  of  babes  new-born.  My  young  Gaul  and 
his  young  freed-woman  stain  with  their  blood  the 
couch  broidered  with  narcissi.  The  barbarians 
burn  the  basilicas  to  roast  their  oxen  whole,  shatter 
the  amphorae,  and  drain  the  wine  in  the  mud  of  the 
flooded  cellars.  Their  women  accompany  them, 
huddled,  half  naked,  in  their  war  chariots.  When 
the  Senate,  the  dwellers  in  the  cities  and  the 
leaders  of  the  churches  had  perished  in  the  flames, 
the  Burgundians,  soddened  with  wine,  lay  down  to 
slumber  beneath  the  arcades  of  the  Forum.  Two 
weeks  later  one  of  them  might  have  been  seen 
smiling  in  his  shaggy  beard  at  the  little  child  whom, 
on  the  threshold  of  their  dwelling,  his  fair-haired 
spouse  gathers  in  her  arms ;  while  another,  kindling 
the  fire  of  his  forge,  hammers  out  his  iron  with 
measured  stroke  ;  another  sings  beneath  the  oak  tree 
to  his  assembled  comrades  of  the  gods  and  heroes 
of  his  race ;  and  yet  others  spread  out  for  sale  stones 
fallen  from  Heaven,  aurochs'  horns  and  amulets. 
And  the  former  inhabitants  of  the  country,  regaining 
courage  little  by  little,  crept  from  the  woods  where 
they  had  fled  for  refuge,  and  returned  to  rebuild 
their  burnt-down  cabins,  plough  their  fields  and 
prune  their  vines. 

"  Once  more  life  resumed  its  normal  course  ;  but 
those  times  were  the  most  wretched  that  mankind 
had  yet  experienced.  The  barbarians  swarmed  over 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    195 

the  whole  Empire.  Their  ways  were  uncouth,  and 
as  they  nurtured  feelings  of  vengeance  and  greed, 
they  firmly  believed  in  the  ransom  of  sin. 

"  The  fable  of  lahveh  and  his  son  pleased  them, 
and  they  believed  it  all  the  more  easily  in  that  it 
was  taught  them  by  the  Romans  whom  they  knew 
to  be  wiser  than  themselves,  and  to  whose  arts  and 
mode  of  life  they  yielded  secret  admiration.  Alas  ! 
the  heritage  of  Greece  and  Rome  had  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  fools.  All  knowledge  was  lost.  In 
those  days  it  was  held  to  be  a  great  merit  to  sing 
among  the  choir,  and  those  who  remembered  a  few 
sentences  from  the  Bible  passed  for  prodigious 
geniuses.  There  were  still  poets  as  there  were  birds, 
but  their  verse  went  lame  in  every  foot.  The 
ancient  demons,  the  good  genii  of  mankind,  shorn 
of  their  honours,  driven  forth,  pursued,  hunted 
down,  remained  hidden  in  the  woods.  There,  if  they 
still  showed  themselves  to  men,  they  adopted,  to  hold 
them  in  awe,  a  terrible  face,  a  red,  green  or  black 
skin,  baleful  eyes,  an  enormous  mouth  fringed  with 
boar's  teeth,  horns,  a  tail,  and  sometimes  a  human 
face  on  their  bellies.  The  nymphs  remained  fair, 
and  the  barbarians,  ignorant  of  the  winsome  names 
they  bore  in  other  days,  called  them  fairies,  and, 
imputing  to  them  a  capricious  character  and  puerile 
tastes,  both  feared  and  loved  them. 

"  We  had  suffered  a  grievous  fall,  and  our  ranks 


196    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

were  sadly  thinned;  nevertheless  we  did  not  lose 
courage,  and  maintaining  a  laughing  aspect  and  a 
benevolent  spirit  we  were  in  those  direful  days  the 
real  friends  of  mankind.  Perceiving  that  the  bar- 
barians grew  daily  less  sombre  and  less  ferocious,  we 
lent  ourselves  to  the  task  of  conversing  with  them 
under  all  sorts  of  disguises.  We  incited  them,  with 
a  thousand  precautions,  and  by  prudent  circumlo- 
cutions, not  to  acknowledge  the  old  lahveh  as  an 
infallible  master,  not  blindly  to  obey  his  orders,  and 
not  to  fear  his  menaces.  When  need  was,  we  had 
recourse  to  magic.  We  exhorted  them  unceasingly 
to  study  nature  and  to  strive  to  discover  the  traces 
of  ancient  wisdom. 

"  These  warriors  from  the  North — rude  though 
they  were — were  acquainted  with  some  mechanical 
arts.  They  thought  they  saw  combats  in  the 
heavens ;  the  sound  of  the  harp  drew  tears  from 
their  eyes ;  and  perchance  they  had  souls  capable  of 
greater  things  than  the  degenerate  Gauls  and 
Romans  whose  lands  they  had  invaded.  They 
knew  not  how  to  hew  stone  or  to  polish  marble  ; 
but  they  caused  porphyry  and  columns  to  be  brought 
from  Rome  and  from  Ravenna  ;  their  chief  men 
took  for  their  seal  a  gem  engraved  by  a  Greek  in  the 
days  when  Beauty  reigned  supreme.  They  raised 
walls  with  bricks,  cunningly  arranged  like  ears  of 
corn,  and  succeeded  in  building  quite  pleasing-look- 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    197 

ing  churches  with  cornices  upheld  by  consoles  de- 
picting grim  faces,  and  heavy  capitals  whereon  were 
represented  monsters  devouring  one  another. 

"  We  taught  them  letters  and  sciences.  A  mouth- 
piece of  their  god,  one  Gerbert,  took  lessons  in 
physics,  arithmetic  and  music  with  us,  and  it  was 
said  that  he  had  sold  us  his  soul.  Centuries  passed, 
and  man's  ways  remained  violent.  It  was  a  world 
given  up  to  fire  and  blood.  The  successors  of  the 
studious  Gerbert,  not  content  with  the  possession 
of  souls  (the  profits  one  gains  thereby  are  lighter 
than  air),  wished  to  possess  bodies  also.  They 
pretended  that  their  universal  and  prescriptive 
monarchy  was  held  from  a  fisherman  on  the  lake  of 
Tiberias.  One  of  them  thought  for  a  moment  to 
prevail  over  the  loutish  Germanus,  successor  to 
Augustus.  But  finally  the  spiritual  had  to  come  to 
terms  with  the  temporal,  and  the  nations  were  torn 
between  two  opposing  masters. 

"  Nations  took  shape  amid  horrible  tumult.  On 
every  side  were  wars,  famines  and  internecine 
conflicts.  Since  they  attributed  the  innumerable 
ills  that  fell  upon  them  to  their  God,  they  called 
him  the  Most  Good  not  by  way  of  irony,  but  because 
to  them  the  best  was  he  who  smote  the  hardest.  In 
those  days  of  violence,  to  give  myself  leisure  for 
study  I  adopted  a  role  which  may  surprise  you,  but 
which  was  exceedingly  wise. 


198    THE   REVOLT  OF  THE   ANGELS 

"  Between  the  Saone  and  the  mountains  of 
Charolais,  where  the  cattle  pasture,  there  lies  a 
wooded  hill  sloping  gently  down  to  fields  watered 
by  a  clear  stream.  There  stood  a  monastery 
celebrated  throughout  the  Christian  world.  I  hid 
my  cloven  feet  under  a  robe  and  became  a  monk  in 
this  Abbey,  where  I  lived  peacefully,  sheltered  from 
the  men  at  arms  who  to  friend  or  foe  alike  showed 
themselves  equally  exacting.  Man,  who  had  re- 
lapsed into  childhood,  had  all  his  lessons  to  learn 
over  again.  Brother  Luke,  whose  cell  was  next  to 
mine,  studied  the  habits  of  animals  and  taught  us 
that  the  weasel  conceives  her  young  within  her  ear. 
I  culled  simples  in  the  fields  wherewith  to  soothe  the 
sick,  who,  until  then  were  made  by  way  of  treatment 
to  touch  the  relics  of  saints.  In  the  Abbey  were 
several  demons  similar  to  myself  whom  I  recognised 
by  their  cloven  feet  and  by  their  kindly  speech.  We 
joined  forces  in  our  endeavours  to  polish  the  rough 
mind  of  the  monks. 

"  While  the  little  children  played  at  hop-scotch 
under  the  Abbey  walls  our  friends  the  monks  de- 
voted themselves  to  another  game  equally  un- 
profitable, at  which,  nevertheless,  I  joined  them, 
for  one  must  kill  time, — that,  when  one  comes  to 
think  of  it,  is  the  sole  business  of  life.  Our  game 
was  a  game  of  words  which  pleased  our  coarse  yet 
subtle  minds,  set  school  fulminating  against  school, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    199 

and  put  all  Christendom  in  an  uproar.  We  formed 
ourselves  into  two  opposing  camps.  One  camp 
maintained  that  before  there  were  apples  there  was 
the  Apple  ;  that  before  there  were  popinjays  there 
was  the  Popinjay  ;  that  before  there  were  lewd  and 
greedy  monks  there  was  the  Monk,  Lewdness  and 
Greed  ;  that  before  there  were  feet  and  before 
there  were  posteriors  in  this  world  the  kick  in  the 
posterior  must  have  had  existence  for  all  eternity  in 
the  bosom  of  God.  The  other  camp  replied  that, 
on  the  contrary,  apples  gave  man  the  idea  of  the 
apple  ;  popinjays  the  idea  of  the  popinjay  ;  monks 
the  idea  of  the  monk,  greed  and  lewdness,  and  that 
the  kick  in  the  posterior  existed  only  after  having 
been  duly  given  and  received.  The  players  grew 
heated  and  came  to  fisticuffs.  I  was  an  adherent  of 
the  second  party,  which  satisfied  my  reason  better, 
and  which  was,  in  fact,  condemned  by  the  Council 
of  Soissons. 

"  Meanwhile,  not  content  with  fighting  among 
themselves,  vassal  against  suzerain,  suzerain  against 
vassal,  the  great  lords  took  it  into  their  heads  to  go 
and  fight  in  the  East.  They  said,  as  well  as  I  can 
remember,  that  they  were  going  to  deliver  the  tomb 
of  the  son  of  God. 

"  They  said  so,  but  their  adventurous  and 
covetous  spirit  excited  them  to  go  forth  and  seek 
lands,  women,  slaves,  gold,  myrrh  and  incense. 


200    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE   ANGELS 

These  expeditions,  need  it  be  said, proved  disastrous; 
but  our  thick-headed  compatriots  brought  back  with 
them  the  knowledge  of  certain  crafts  and  oriental 
arts  and  a  taste  for  luxury.  Henceforth  we  had  less 
difficulty  in  making  them  work  and  in  putting  them 
in  the  way  of  inventions.  We  built  wonderfully 
beautiful  churches,  with  daringly  pierced  arches, 
lancet-shaped  windows,  high  towers,  thousands  of 
pointed  spires,  which,  rising  in  the  sky  towards 
lahveh,  bore  at  one  and  the  same  time  the  prayers 
of  the  humble  and  the  threats  of  the  proud,  for  it 
was  all  as  much  our  doing  as  the  work  of  men's  hands ; 
and  it  was  a  strange  sight  to  see  men  and  demons 
working  together  at  a  cathedral,  each  one  sawing, 
polishing,  collecting  stones,  graving,  on  capital  and 
on  cornice,  nettles,  thorns,  thistles,  wild  parsley  and 
wild  strawberry, — carving  faces  of  virgins  and  saints 
and  weird  figures  of  serpents,  fishes  with  asses' 
heads,  apes  scratching  their  buttocks ;  each  one,  in 
fact,  putting  his  own  particular  talent, — mocking, 
sublime,  grotesque,  modest  or  audacious, — into  the 
work  and  making  of  it  all  a  harmonious  cacophony, 
a  rapturous  anthem  of  joy  and  sorrow,  a  Babel  of 
victory.  At  our  instigation  the  carvers,  the  gold- 
smiths, the  enamellers,  accomplished  marvels  and  all 
the  sumptuary  arts  flourished  at  once;  there  were  silks 
at  Lyons,  tapestries  at  Arras,  linen  at  Rheims,  cloth  at 
Rouen.  The  good  merchants  rode  on  their  palfreys 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    201 

to  the  fairs  bearing  pieces  of  velvet  and  brocade, 
embroideries,  orfrays,  jewels,  vessels  of  silver  and 
illuminated  books.  Strollers  and  players  set  up  their 
trestles  in  the  churches  and  in  the  public  squares, 
and  represented,  according  to  their  lights,  simple 
chronicles  of  Heaven,  Earth  and  Hell.  Women 
decked  themselves  in  splendid  raiment  and  lisped 
of  love. 

"  In  the  Spring  when  the  sky  was  blue,  nobles  and 
peasants  were  possessed  with  the  desire  to  make 
merry  in  the  flower-strewn  meadows.  The  fiddler 
tuned  his  instrument,  and  ladies,  knights  and  demoi- 
selles, townsfolk,  villagers  and  maidens,  holding 
hands,  began  the  dance.  But  suddenly  War, 
Pestilence  and  Famine  entered  the  circle,  and  Death, 
tearing  the  violin  from  the  fiddler's  hands,  led  the 
dance.  Fire  devoured  village  and  monastery.  The 
men-at-arms  hanged  the  peasants  on  the  sign-posts 
at  the  cross-roads  when  they  were  unable  to  pay 
ransom,  and  bound  pregnant  women  to  tree-trunks, 
where  at  night  the  wolves  came  and  devoured  the 
fruit  within  the  womb.  The  poor  people  lost  their 
senses.  Sometimes,  peace  being  re-established,  and 
good  times  come  again,  they  were  seized  with  mad, 
unreasoning  terror,  abandoned  their  homes,  and 
rushed  hither  and  thither  in  troops,  half  naked, 
tearing  themselves  with  iron  hooks,  and  singing.  I 
do  not  accuse  lahveh  and  his  son  of  all  this  evil. 


202    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

Many  ill  things  occurred  without  him  and  even  in 
spite  of  him.  But  where  I  recognise  the  instigation 
of  the  All  Good  (as  they  called  him)  was  in  the 
custom  instituted  by  his  pastors,  and  established 
throughout  Christendom,  of  burning,  to  the  sound 
of  bells  and  the  singing  of  psalms,  both  men  and 
women  who,  taught  by  the  demons,  professed, 
concerning  this  God,  opinions  of  their  own." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  GARDENER'S  STORY,  CONCLUDED 

T  seemed  as  if  science  and  thought 
had  perished  for  all  eternity,  and 
that  the  earth  would  never  again 
know  peace,  joy  and  beauty. 

"  But  one  day,  under  the  walls  of 
Rome,  some  workmen,  excavating  the  earth  on  the 
borders  of  an  ancient  road,  found  a  marble  sarco- 
phagus which  bore  carved  on  its  sides  simulacra  of 
Love  and  the  triumphs  of  Bacchus. 

"  The  lid  being  raised,  a  maiden  appeared  whose 
face  shone  with  dazzling  freshness.  Her  long  hair 
spread  over  her  white  shoulders,  she  was  smiling  in 
her  sleep.  A  band  of  citizens,  thrilled  with  en- 
thusiasm, raised  the  funeral  couch  and  bore  it  to 
the  Capitol.  The  people  came  in  crowds  to  con- 
template the  ineffable  beauty  of  the  Roman  maiden 
and  stood  around  in  silence,  watching  for  the  awaken- 
ing of  the  divine  soul  held  within  this  form  of 
adorable  beauty. 

"  And  it  came  to  pass  that  the  City  was  so  greatly 

stirred  by  this  spectacle  that  the  Pope,  fearing,  not 
o  203 


204    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

without  reason,  the  birth  of  a  pagan  cult  from  this 
radiant  body,  caused  it  to  be  removed  at  night  and 
secretly  buried.  The  precaution  was  vain,  the 
labour  fruitless.  After  so  many  centuries  of 
barbarism,  the  beauty  of  the  antique  world  had 
appeared  for  a  moment  before  the  eyes  of  men  ;  it 
was  long  enough  for  its  image,  graven  on  their 
hearts,  to  inspire  them  with  an  ardent  desire  to 
love  and  to  know. 

"  Henceforth,  the  star  of  the  God  of  the  Christians 
paled  and  sloped  to  its  decline.  Bold  navigators 
discovered  worlds  inhabited  by  numerous  races 
who  knew  not  old  lahveh,  and  it  was  suspected  that 
he  was  no  less  ignorant  of  them,  since  he  had  given 
them  no  news  of  himself  or  of  his  son  the  expiator. 
A  Polish  Canon  demonstrated  the  true  motions  of 
the  earth,  and  it  was  seen  that,  far  from  having 
created  the  world,  the  old  demiurge  of  Israel  had 
not  even  an  inkling  of  its  structure.  The  writings 
of  philosophers,  orators,  jurisconsults  and  ancient 
poets  were  dragged  from  the  dust  of  the  cloisters 
and  passing  from  hand  to  hand  inspired  men's 
minds  with  the  love  of  wisdom.  The  Vicar  of  the 
jealous  God,  the  Pope  himself,  no  longer  believed 
in  Him  whom  he  represented  on  earth.  He  loved 
the  arts  and  had  no  other  care  than  to  collect 
ancient  statues  and  to  rear  sumptuous  buildings 
wherein  were  displayed  the  orders  of  Vitruvius  re- 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    205 

established  by  Bramante.  We  began  to  breathe 
anew.  Already  the  old  gods,  recalled  from  their 
long  exile,  were  returning  to  dwell  upon  earth. 
There  they  found  once  more  their  temples  and  their 
altars.  Leo,  placing  at  their  feet  the  ring,  the  three 
crowns  and  the  keys,  offered  them  in  secret  the 
incense  of  sacrifices.  Already  Polyhymnia,  leaning 
on  her  elbow,  had  begun  to  resume  the  golden 
thread  of  her  meditations ;  already,  in  the  gardens, 
the  comely  Graces  and  the  Nymphs  and  Satyrs 
were  weaving  their  mazy  dances,  and  at  length  the 
earth  had  joy  once  more  within  its  grasp.  But,  O 
calamity,  unlucky  fate, — most  tragic  circumstance  ! 
A  German  monk,  all  swollen  with  beer  and  theology, 
rose  up  against  this  renaissance  of  paganism,  hurled 
menaces  against  it,  shattered  it,  and  prevailed  single- 
handed  against  the  Princes  of  the  Church.  Inciting 
the  nations,  he  called  upon  them  to  undertake  a  reform 
which  saved  that  which  was  about  to  be  destroyed. 
Vainly  did  the  cleverest  among  us  try  to  turn  him 
from  his  work.  A  subtle  demon,  on  earth  called 
Beelzebub,  marked  him  out  for  attack,  now  em- 
barrassing him  with  learned  controversial  argument, 
now  tormenting  him  with  cruel  mockery.  The  stub- 
born monk  hurled  his  ink-pot  at  his  head  and  went 
on  with  his  dismal  reformation.  What  ultimately 
happened  ?  The  sturdy  manner  repaired,  calked 
and  refloated  the  damaged  ship  of  the  Church. 


206    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

Jesus  Christ  owes  it  to  this  shaveling  that  his  ship- 
wreck was  delayed  for  perhaps  more  than  ten 
centuries.  Henceforth  things  went  from  bad  to 
worse.  In  the  wake  of  this  loutish  monk,  this  beer- 
swiller  and  brawler,  came  that  tall,  dry  doctor  from 
Geneva,  who,  filled  with  the  spirit  of  the  ancient 
lahveh,  strove  to  bring  the  world  back  again  to  the 
abominable  days  of  Joshua  and  the  Judges  of  Israel. 
A  maniac  was  he,  filled  with  cold  fury,  a  heretic  and 
a  burner  of  heretics,  the  most  ferocious  enemy  of 
the  Graces. 

"  These  mad  apostles  and  their  mad  disciples 
made  even  demons  like  myself,  even  the  horned 
devils,  look  back  longingly  on  the  time  when  the 
Son  with  his  Virgin  Mother  reigned  over  the 
nations  dazzled  with  splendours :  cathedrals  with 
their  stone  tracery  delicate  as  lace,  flaming  roses  of 
stained  glass,  frescoes  painted  in  vivid  colours 
telling  countless  wondrous  tales,  rich  orfrays, 
glittering  enamel  of  shrines  and  reliquaries,  gold  of 
crosses  and  of  monstrances,  waxen  tapers  gleaming 
like  starry  galaxies  amid  the  gloom  of  vaulted  arches, 
organs  with  their  deep-toned  harmonies.  All  this 
doubtless  was  not  the  Parthenon,  nor  yet  the  Pana- 
thenaea,  but  it  gladdened  eyes  and  hearts  ;  it  was, 
at  all  events,  beauty.  And  these  cursed  reformers 
would  not  suffer  anything  either  pleasing  or  lovable. 
You  should  have  seen  them  climbing  in  black  swarms 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS  207 

over  doorways,  plinths,  spires  and  bell-towers, 
striking  with  senseless  hammers  those  images  in 
stone  which  the  demons  had  carved  working  hand 
in  hand  with  the  master  designers,  those  genial 
saints  and  dear,  holy  women,  and  the  touching 
idols  of  Virgin  Mothers  pressing  their  suckling  to 
their  heart.  For,  to  be  just,  a  little  agreeable 
paganism  had  slipped  into  the  cult  of  the  jealous 
God.  These  monsters  of  heretics  were  for  extir- 
pating idolatry.  We  did  our  best,  my  companions 
and  I,  to  hamper  their  horrible  work,  and  I,  for  one, 
had  the  pleasure  of  flinging  down  some  dozens  from 
the  top  of  the  porches  and  galleries  on  to  the 
Cathedral  Square,  where  their  detestable  brains  got 
knocked  out.  The  worst  of  it  was  that  the  Catholic 
Church  also  reformed  herself  and  grew  more 
mischievous  than  ever.  In  the  pleasant  land  of 
France,  the  seminarists  and  the  monks  were  in- 
flamed with  unheard  of  fury  against  the  ingenious 
demons  and  the  men  of  learning.  My  prior  was  one 
of  the  most  violent  opponents  of  sound  knowledge. 
For  some  time  past  my  studious  lucubrations  had 
caused  him  anxiety,  and  perhaps  he  had  caught 
sight  of  my  cloven  foot.  The  scoundrel  searched 
my  cell  and  found  paper,  ink,  some  Greek  books 
newly  printed  and  some  Pan-pipes  hanging  on  the 
wall.  By  these  signs  he  knew  me  for  an  evil  spirit 
and  had  me  thrown  into  a  dungeon  where  I  should 


208    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

have  eaten  the  bread  of  suffering  and  drunk  the 
waters  of  bitterness,  had  I  not  promptly  made  my 
escape  by  the  window  and  sought  refuge  in  the 
wooded  groves  among  the  Nymphs  and  the  Fauns. 

"  Far  and  wide  the  lighted  pyres  cast  the  odour 
of  charred  flesh.  Everywhere  there  were  tortures, 
executions,  broken  bones  and  tongues  cut  out. 
Never  before  had  the  spirit  of  lahveh  breathed 
forth  such  atrocious  fury.  However,  it  was  not 
altogether  in  vain  that  men  had  raised  the  lid  of 
the  ancient  sarcophagus  and  gazed  upon  the  Roman 
Virgin. 

"  During  this  time  of  great  terror  when  Papists 
and  Reformers  rivalled  one  another  in  violence  and 
cruelty,  amidst  all  these  scenes  of  torture,  the  mind 
of  man  was  regaining  strength  and  courage.  It 
dared  to  look  up  to  the  heavens,  and  there  it  saw, 
not  the  old  Jew  drunk  with  vengeance,  but  Venus 
Urania,  tranquil  and  resplendent.  Then  a  new 
order  of  things  was  born,  then  the  great  centuries 
came  into  being.  Without  publicly  denying  the 
god  of  their  ancestors,  men  of  intellect  submitted 
to  his  mortal  enemies,  Science  and  Reason,  and  Abbe 
Gassendi  relegated  him  gently  to  the  far-distant 
abyss  of  first  causes.  The  kindly  demons  who  teach 
and  console  unhappy  mortals,  inspired  the  great 
minds  of  those  days  with  discourses  of  all  kinds,  with 
comedies  and  tales  told  in  the  most  polished  fashion. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    209 

Women  invented  conversation,  the  art  of  intimate 
letter-writing  and  politeness.  Manners  took  on  a 
sweetness  and  a  nobility  unknown  to  preceding 
ages.  One  of  the  finest  minds  of  that  age  of  reason, 
the  amiable  Bernier,  wrote  one  day  to  St.  Evremond: 
4  It  is  a  great  sin  to  deprive  oneself  of  a  pleasure/ 
And  this  pronouncement  alone  should  suffice  to 
show  the  progress  of  intelligence  in  Europe.  Not 
that  there  had  not  always  been  Epicureans  but, 
unlike  Bernier,  Chapelle  and  Moliere,  they  had  not 
the  consciousness  of  their  talent. 

"Then  even  the  very  devotees  understood  Nature. 
And  Racine,  fierce  bigot  that  he  was,  knew  as  well 
as  such  an  atheistical  physician  as  Guy  Patin,  how  to 
attribute  to  divers  states  of  the  organs  the  passions 
which  agitate  mankind. 

"  Even  in  my  abbey,  whither  I  had  returned  after 
the  turmoil,  and  which  sheltered  only  the  ignorant 
and  the  shallow  thinker,  a  young  monk,  less  of  a 
dunce  than  the  rest,  confided  to  me  that  the  Holy 
Spirit  expresses  itself  in  bad  Greek  to  humiliate  the 
learned. 

"  Nevertheless,  theology  and  controversy  were 
still  raging  in  this  society  of  thinkers.  Not  far  from 
Paris  in  a  shady  valley  there  were  to  be  seen  solitary 
beings,  known  as  l  les  Messieurs '  who  called  them- 
selves disciples  of  St.  Augustine,  and  argued  with 
honest  conviction  that  the  God  of  the  Scriptures 


210   THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

strikes  those  who  fear  Him,  spares  those  who  con- 
front Him,  holds  works  of  no  account  and  damns- 
should  He  so  wish  it — His  most  faithful  servant  ; 
for  His  justice  is  not  our  justice,  and  His  ways  are 
incomprehensible. 

"  One  evening  I  met  one  of  these  gentlemen  in 
his  garden,  where  he  was  pacing  thoughtfully  among 
the  cabbage-plots  and  lettuce-beds.  I  bowed  my 
horned  head  before  him  and  murmured  these 
friendly  words :  '  May  old  Jehovah  protect  you,  sir. 
You  know  him  well.  Oh,  how  well  you  know  him, 
and  how  perfectly  you  have  understood  his  charac- 
ter.' The  holy  man  thought  he  discerned  in  me  a 
messenger  from  Hell,  concluded  he  was  eternally 
damned,  and  died  suddenly  of  fright. 

"  The  following  century  was  the  century  of 
philosophy.  The  spirit  of  research  was  developed, 
reverence  was  lost ;  the  pride  of  the  flesh  was 
diminished  and  the  mind  acquired  fresh  energy. 
Manners  took  on  an  elegance  until  then  unknown. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  monks  of  my  order  grew 
more  and  more  ignorant  and  dirty,  and  the 
monastery  no  longer  offered  me  any  advantage 
now  that  good  manners  reigned  in  the  town.  I 
could  bear  it  no  longer.  Flinging  my  habit  to  the 
nettles,  I  put  a  powdered  wig  on  my  horned  brow, 
hid  my  goat's  legs  under  white  stockings,  and, 
cane  in  hand,  my  pockets  stuffed  with  gazettes, 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    211 

I  frequented  the  fashionable  world,  visited  the 
modish  promenades,  and  showed  myself  assiduously 
in  the  cafes  where  men  of  letters  were  to  be  found. 
I  was  made  welcome  in  salons  where,  as  a  happy 
novelty,  there  were  arm-chairs  that  fitted  the  form, 
and  where  both  men  and  women  engaged  in  rational 
conversation. 

11  The  very  metaphysicians  spoke  intelligibly.  I 
acquired  great  weight  in  the  town  as  an  authority 
on  matters  of  exegesis,  and,  without  boasting,  I 
was  largely  responsible  for  the  Testament  of  the 
cure  Meslier  and  The  Bible  Explained,  brought  out 
by  the  chaplains  to  the  King  of  Prussia. 

"  At  this  time  a  comic  and  cruel  misadventure 
befel  the  ancient  lahveh.  An  American  Quaker, 
by  means  of  a  kite,  stole  his  thunderbolts. 

"  I  was  living  in  Paris,  and  was  at  the  supper 
where  they  talked  of  strangling  the  last  of  the 
priests  with  the  entrails  of  the  last  of  the  kings. 
France  was  in  a  ferment ;  a  terrible  revolution 
broke  out.  The  ephemeral  leaders  of  the  dis- 
ordered State  carried  on  a  Reign  of  Terror  amidst 
unheard-of  perils.  They  were,  for  the  most  part, 
less  pitiless  and  less  cruel  than  the  princes  and 
judges  instituted  by  lahveh  in  the  kingdoms 
of  the  earth ;  nevertheless,  they  appeared  more 
ferocious,  because  they  gave  judgment  in  the  name 
of  Humanity.  Unhappily  they  were  easily  moved 


212     THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

to  pity  and  of  great  sensibility.  Now  men  of 
sensibility  are  irritable  and  subject  to  fits  of  fury. 
They  were  virtuous ;  they  had  moral  laws,  that  is  to 
say  they  conceived  certain  narrowly  defined  moral 
obligations,  and  judged  human  actions  not  by  their 
natural  consequences  but  by  abstract  principles. 
Of  all  the  vices  which  contribute  to  the  undoing 
of  a  statesman,  virtue  is  the  most  fatal ;  it  leads  to 
murder.  To  work  effectively  for  the  happiness  of 
mankind,  a  man  must  be  superior  to  all  morals, 
like  the  divine  Julius.  God,  so  ill-used  for  some 
time  past,  did  not,  on  the  whole,  suffer  excessively 
harsh  treatment  from  these  new  men.  He  found 
protectors  among  them,  and  was  adored  under  the 
name  of  the  Supreme  Being.  One  might  even  go 
so  far  as  to  say  that  terror  created  a  diversion  from 
philosophy  and  was  profitable  to  the  old  demiurge, 
in  that  he  appeared  to  represent  order,  public 
tranquillity  and  the  security  of  person  and  property. 
"  While  Liberty  was  coming  to  birth  amid  the 
storm,  I  lived  at  Auteuil,  and  visited  Madame 
Helvetius,  where  freethinkers  in  every  branch  of 
intellectual  activity  were  to  be  met  with.  Nothing 
could  be  rarer  than  a  freethinker,  even  after 
Voltaire's  day.  A  man  who  will  face  death  without 
trembling  dare  not  say  anything  out  of  the  ordinary 
about  morals.  That  very  same  respect  for  Humanity 
which  prompts  him  to  go  forth  to  his  death,  makes 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    213 

him  bow  to  public  opinion.  In  those  days  I  enjoyed 
listening  to  the  talk  of  Volney,  Cabanis  and  Tracy. 
Disciples  of  the  great  Condillac,  they  regarded  the 
senses  as  the  origin  of  all  our  knowledge.  They 
called  themselves  ideologists,  were  the  most  honour- 
able people  in  the  world,  and  grieved  the  vulgar 
minds  by  refusing  them  immortality.  For  the 
majority  of  people,  though  they  do  not  know  what  to 
do  with  this  life,  long  for  another  that  shall  have  no 
end.  During  the  turmoil,  our  small  philosophical 
society  was  sometimes  disturbed  in  the  peaceful 
shades  of  Auteuil  by  patrols  of  patriots.  Condorcet, 
our  great  man,  was  an  outlaw.  I  myself  was  re- 
garded as  suspect  by  the  friends  of  the  people, 
who,  in  spite  of  my  rustic  appearance  and  my 
frieze  coat,  believed  me  to  be  an  aristocrat,  and  I 
confess  that  independence  of  thought  is  the  proudest 
of  all  aristocracies. 

"  One  evening  while  I  was  stealthily  watching 
the  dryads  of  Boulogne  who  gleamed  amid 
the  leaves  like  the  moon  rising  above  the  horizon, 
I  was  arrested  as  a  suspect,  and  put  in  prison. 
It  was  a  pure  misunderstanding ;  but  the 
Jacobins  of  those  days,  like  the  monks  whose 
place  they  had  usurped,  laid  great  stress  on 
unity  of  obedience.  After  the  death  of  Madame 
Helvetius  our  society  gathered  together  in  the  salon 
of  Madame  de  Condorcet.  Bonaparte  did  not 
disdain  to  chat  with  us  sometimes. 


214    THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

"  Recognising  him  to  be  a  great  man,  we  thought 
him  an  ideologist  like  ourselves.  Our  influence  in 
the  land  was  considerable.  We  used  it  in  his  favour, 
and  urged  him  towards  the  Imperial  throne,  think- 
ing to  display  to  the  world  a  second  Marcus  Aurelius. 
We  counted  on  him  to  establish  universal  peace  ;  he 
did  not  fulfil  our  expectations,  and  we  were  wrong- 
headed  enough  to  be  wroth  with  him  for  our  own 
mistake. 

"  Without  any  doubt  he  greatly  surpassed  all  other 
men  in  quickness  of  intelligence,  depth  of  dis- 
simulation, and  capacity  for  action.  What  made 
him  an  accomplished  ruler  was  that  he  lived  entirely 
in  the  present  moment,  and  had  no  thoughts  for 
anything  beyond  the  immediate  and  actual  reality. 
His  genius  was  far-reaching  and  agile ;  his  intelligence, 
vast  in  extent  but  common  and  vulgar  in  character, 
embraced  humanity,  but  did  not  rise  above  it.  He 
thought  what  every  grenadier  in  the  army  thought ; 
but  he  thought  it  with  unprecedented  force.  He 
loved  the  game  of  chance,  and  it  pleased  him  to 
tempt  fortune  by  urging  pigmies  in  their  hundreds 
and  thousands  against  each  other.  It  was  the  game 
of  a  child  as  big  as  the  world.  He  was  too  wily  not 
to  introduce  old  lahveh  into  the  game, — lahveh, 
who  was  still  powerful  on  earth,  and  who  resembled 
him  in  his  spirit  of  violence  and  domination.  He 
threatened  him,  nattered  him,  caressed  him  and 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     215 

intimidated  him.  He  imprisoned  his  Vicar,  of 
whom  he  demanded,  with  the  knife  at  his  throat, 
that  rite  of  unction  which,  since  the  days  of  Saul 
of  old,  has  bestowed  might  upon  kings ;  he  restored 
the  worship  of  the  demiurge,  sang  Te  Deums  to 
him,  and  made  himself  known  through  him  as  God 
of  the  earth,  in  small  catechisms  scattered  broadcast 
throughout  the  Empire.  They  united  their 
thunders,  and  a  fine  uproar  they  made. 

"  While  Napoleon's  amusements  were  throwing 
Europe  into  a  turmoil,  we  congratulated  ourselves  on 
our  wisdom,  a  little  sad,  withal,  at  seeing  the  era  of 
philosophy  ushered  in  with  massacre,  torture  and 
war.  The  worst  is  that  the  children  of  the  century, 
fallen  into  the  most  distressing  disorder,  formed  the 
conception  of  a  literary  and  picturesque  Christianity, 
which  betokened  a  degeneracy  of  mind  really  un- 
believable, and  finally  fell  into  Romanticism.  War 
and  Romanticism,  what  terrible  scourges  !  And  how 
pitiful  to  see  these  same  people  nursing  a  childish 
and  savage  love  for  muskets  and  drums  !  They  did 
not  understand  that  war,  which  trained  the  courage 
and  founded  the  cities  of  barbarous  and  ignorant 
men,  brings  to  the  victor  himself  but  ruin  and 
misery,  and  is  nothing  but  a  horrible  and  stupid 
crime  when  nations  are  united  together  by  common 
bonds  of  art,  science  and  trade. 

"  Insane  Europeans  who  plot  to  cut  each  others' 


216    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

throats,  now  that  one  and  the   same    civilisation 
enfolds  and  unites  them  all ! 

"  I  renounced  all  converse  with  these  madmen  and 
withdrew  to  this  village,  where  I  devoted  myself  to 
gardening.  The  peaches  in  my  orchard  remind  me  of 
the  sun-kissed  skin  of  the  Maenads.  For  mankind  I 
have  retained  my  old  friendship,  a  little  admiration 
and  much  pity,  and  I  await,  while  cultivating  this 
enclosure,  that  still  distant  day  when  the  great 
Dionysus  shall  come,  followed  by  his  Fauns  and  his 
Bacchantes,  to  restore  beauty  and  gladness  to  the 
world,  and  bring  back  the  Golden  Age.  I  shall  fare 
joyously  behind  his  car.  And  who  knows  if  in  that 
day  of  triumph  mankind  will  be  there  for  us  to  see  ? 
Who  knows  whether  their  worn-out  race  will  not 
have  already  fulfilled  its  destiny,  and  whether  other 
beings  will  not  rise  upon  the  ashes  and  ruins  of 
what  once  was  man  and  his  genius  ?  Who  knows 
if  winged  beings  will  not  have  taken  possession  of 
the  terrestrial  empire  ?  Even  then  the  work  of  the 
good  demons  will  not  be  ended, — they  will  teach  a 
winged  race  arts  and  the  joy  of  life." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

WHEREIN  WE  ARE  SHOWN  THE  INTERIOR  OF  A  BRIC-A- 
BRAC  SHOP,  AND  SEE  HOW  PERE  GUINARDON's 
GUILTY  HAPPINESS  IS  MARRED  BY  THE  JEALOUSY 
OF  A  LOVE-LORN  DAME 

ERE  GUINARDON  (as  Zephyrine 
had  faithfully  reported  to  Monsieur 
Sariette)  smuggled  out  the  pictures, 
furniture  and  curios  stored  in  his 
attic  in  the  rue  Princesse — his  studio 
he  called  it — and  used  them  to  stock  a  shop  he  had 
taken  in  the  rue  de  Courcelles.  Thither  he  went  to 
take  up  his  abode,  leaving  Zephyrine,  with  whom 
he  had  lived  for  fifty  years,  without  a  bed  or  a 
saucepan  or  a  penny  to  call  her  own,  except  eighteen- 
pence  the  poor  creature  had  in  her  purse.  Pere 
Guinardon  opened  an  old  picture  and  curiosity 
shop,  and  in  it  he  installed  the  fair  Octavie. 

The  shop-front  presented  an  attractive  appearance: 
there  were  Flemish  angels  in  green  copes,  after  the 
manner  of  Gerard  David,  a  Salome  of  the  Luini 
school,  a  Saint  Barbara  in  painted  wood  of  French 
workmanship,  Limoges  enamel-work,  Bohemian  and 

217 


2i8    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

Venetian  glass,  dishes  from  Urbino.  There  were 
specimens  of  English  point-lace  which,  if  her  tale 
was  true,  had  been  presented  to  Zephyrine,  in  the 
days  of  her  radiant  girlhood,  by  the  Emperor 
Napoleon  III.  Within,  there  were  golden  articles 
that  glinted  in  the  shadows,  while  pictures  of  Christ, 
the  Apostles,  high-bred  dames  and  nymphs  also 
presented  themselves  to  the  gaze.  There  was  one 
canvas  that  was  turned  face  to  the  wall  so  that  it 
should  only  be  looked  at  by  connoisseurs ;  and 
connoisseurs  are  scarce.  It  was  a  replica  of 
Fragonard's  Gimblette,  a  brilliant  painting  that 
looked  as  if  it  had  barely  had  time  to  dry.  Papa 
Guinardon  himself  remarked  on  the  fact.  At  the 
far  end  of  the  shop  was  a  king-wood  cabinet,  the 
drawers  of  which  were  full  of  all  manner  of  treasures: 
water-colours  by  Baudouin,  eighteenth-century 
books  of  illustrations,  miniatures  and  so  forth. 

But  the  real  masterpiece,  the  marvel,  the  gem, 
the  pearl  of  great  price,  stood  upon  an  easel  veiled 
from  public  view.  It  was  a  Coronation  of  the  Virgin 
by  Fra  Angelico,  an  exquisitely  delicate  thing  in 
gold  and  blue  and  pink.  Pere  Guinardon  was  asking 
a  hundred  thousand  francs  for  it.  Upon  a  Louis  XV 
chair  beside  an  Empire  work-table  on  which  stood 
a  vase  of  flowers,  sat  the  fair  Octavie,  broidery  in 
hand.  She,  having  left  her  glistering  rags  behind 
her  in  the  garret  in  the  rue  Princesse,  no  longer  pre- 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     219 

sented  the  appearance  of  a  touched-up  Rembrandt, 
but  shone,  rather,  with  the  soft  radiance  and 
limpidity  of  a  Vermeer  of  Delft,  for  the  delectation 
of  the  connoisseurs  who  frequented  the  shop  of 
Papa  Guinardon.  Tranquil  and  demure,  she 
remained  alone  in  the  shop  all  day,  while  the  old 
fellow  himself  was  up  aloft  working  away  at  the 
deuce  knows  what  picture.  About  five  o'clock  he 
used  to  come  downstairs  and  have  a  chat  with  the 
habitues  of  the  establishment. 

The  most  regular  caller  was  the  Comte  Des- 
maisons,  a  thin,  cadaverous  man.  A  strand  of  hair 
issued  from  the  deep  hollow  under  each  cheek- 
bone, and,  broadening  as  it  descended,  shed  upon 
his  chin  and  chest  torrents  of  snow  in  which 
he  was  for  ever  trailing  his  long,  fleshless,  gold- 
ringed  fingers.  For  twenty  years  he  had  been 
mourning  the  loss  of  his  wife,  who  had  been  carried 
off  by  consumption  in  the  flower  of  her  youth  and 
beauty.  Since  then  he  had  spent  his  whole  life  in 
endeavouring  to  hold  converse  with  the  dead  and  in 
filling  his  lonely  mansion  with  second-rate  paintings. 
His  confidence  in  Guinardon  knew  no  bounds. 
Another  client  who  was  a  scarcely  less  frequent 
visitor  to  the  shop  was  Monsieur  Blancmesnil,  a 
director  of  a  large  financial  establishment.  He  was 
a  florid,  prosperous-looking  man  of  fifty.  He  took 
no  great  interest  in  matters  of  art,  and  was  perhaps 
p 


220    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

an  indifferent  connoisseur,  but,  in  his  case,  it  was 
the  fair  Octavie,  seated  in  the  middle  of  the  shop, 
like  a  song-bird  in  its  cage,  that  offered  the  attraction. 

Monsieur  Blancmesnil  soon  established  relations 
with  her,  a  fact  which  Pere  Guinardon  alone  failed 
to  perceive,  for  the  old  fellow  was  still  young  in 
his  love-affair  with  Octavie.  Monsieur  Gaetan 
d'Esparvieu  used  to  pay  occasional  visits  to  Pere 
Guinardon's  shop  out  of  mere  curiosity,  for  he 
strongly  suspected  the  old  man  of  being  a  first-rate 
"faker." 

And  then  that  doughty  swordsman,  Monsieur 
Le  True  de  Ruffec,  also  came  to  see  the  old  antiquary 
on  one  occasion,  and  acquainted  him  with  a  plan 
he  had  on  foot.  Monsieur  Le  True  de  Ruffec  was 
getting  up  a  little  historical  exhibition  of  small 
arms  at  the  Petit  Palais  in  aid  of  the  fund  for  the 
education  of  the  native  children  in  Morocco  and 
wanted  Pere  Guinardon  to  lend  him  a  few  of  the 
most  valuable  articles  in  his  collection. 

"  Our  first  idea,"  he  said,  "  was  to  organise  an 
exhibition  to  be  called  '  The  Cross  and  the  Sword.' 
The  juxtaposition  of  these  two  words  will  make  the 
idea  which  has  prompted  our  undertaking  sufficiently 
clear  to  you.  It  was  an  idea  pre-eminently  patriotic 
and  Christian  which  led  us  to  associate  the  Sword, 
which  is  the  symbol  of  Honour,  with  the  Cross,  which 
is  the  symbol  of  Salvation.  It  was  hoped  that  our 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    221 

work  would  be  graced  by  the  distinguished  patronage 
of  the  Minister  for  War  and  Monseigneur  Cachepot. 
Unfortunately  there  were  difficulties  in  the  way, 
and  the  full  realisation  of  the  project  had  to  be 
deferred.  In  the  meantime  we  are  limiting  our 
exhibition  to  'The  Sword.'  I  have  drawn  up  an 
explanatory  note  indicating  the  significance  of  the 
demonstration." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  these  remarks, 
Monsieur  Le  True  de  Ruffec  produced  a  pocket- 
case  stuffed  full  of  papers.  Picking  out  from  a 
medley  of  judgment  summonses  and  other  odds 
and  ends  a  little  piece  of  very  crumpled  paper,  he 
exclaimed,  "  Ah,  here  it  is,"  and  proceeded  to  read 
as  follows :  "  '  The  Sword  is  a  fierce  Virgin  ;  it  is 
par  excellence  the  Frenchman's  weapon.  And  now, 
when  patriotic  sentiment,  after  suffering  an  all 
too  protracted  eclipse,  is  beginning  to  shine  forth 
again  more  ardently  than  ever  .  .  .'  and  so  forth  ; 
you  see  ?  " 

And  he  repeated  his  request  for  some  really 
fine  specimen  to  be  placed  in  the  most  conspicuous 
position  in  the  exhibition  to  be  held  on  behalf  of 
the  little  native  children  of  Morocco,  of  which 
General  d'Esparvieu  was  to  be  honorary  President. 

Arms  and  armour  were  by  no  means  Pere 
Guinardon's  strong  point.  He  dealt  principally 
in  pictures,  drawings  and  books.  But  he  was 


222    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

never  to  be  taken  unawares.  He  took  down  a 
rapier  with  a  gilt  colander-shaped  hilt,  a  highly 
typical  piece  of  workmanship  of  the  Louis  XIII- 
Napoleon  III  period,  and  presented  it  to  the 
exhibition  promoter,  who,  while  contemplating  it 
with  respect,  maintained  a  diplomatic  silence. 

"  I  have  something  better  still  in  here,"  said  the 
antiquary,  and  he  produced  from  his  inner  shop — 
where  it  had  been  lying  among  the  walking-sticks 
and  umbrellas — a  real  demon  of  a  sword,  adorned 
with  fleurs-de-lys,  a  genuine  royal  relic.  It  was  the 
sword  of  Philippe- Auguste  as  .worn  by  an  actor  at 
the  Odeon  when  Agnes  de  Meranie  was  being  per- 
formed in  1846.  Guinardon  held  it  point  down- 
wards, as  though  it  were  a  cross,  clasping  his  hands 
piously  on  the  cross-bar.  He  looked  as  loyal  as  the 
sword  itself. 

"  Have  her  for  your  exhibition,"  said  he.  "  The 
damsel  is  well  worth  it.  Bouvines  is  her  name." 

"  If  I  find  a  buyer  for  it,"  said  Monsieur  Le 
True  de  Ruffec,  twirling  his  enormous  moustachios, 
"  I  suppose  you  will  allow  me  a  little  com- 
mission ? " 

Some  days  later,  Pere  Guinardon  was  mysteriously 
displaying  a  picture  to  the  Comte  Desmaisons  and 
Monsieur  Blancmesnil.  It  was  a  newly  discovered 
work  of  El  Greco,  an  amazingly  fine  example  of 
the  Master's  later  style.  It  represented  a  Saint 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     223 

Francis  of  Assisi  standing  erect  upon  Mont  Alverno. 
He  was  mounting  heavenward  like  a  column  of 
smoke,  and  was  plunging  into  the  regions  of  the 
clouds  a  monstrously  narrow  head  that  the  distance 
rendered  smaller  still.  In  fine  it  was  a  real,  very 
real,  nay,  too  real  El  Greco.  The  two  collectors 
were  attentively  scrutinising  the  work,  while  Pere 
Guinardon  was  belauding  the  depth  of  the  shadows 
and  the  sublimity  of  the  expression.  He  was  raising 
his  arms  aloft  to  convey  an  idea  of  the  greatness 
of  Theotocopuli,  who  derived  from  Tintoretto, 
whom,  however,  he  surpassed  in  loftiness  by  a 
hundred  cubits. 

"  He  was  chaste,  and  pure  and  strong  ;  a  mystic, 
a  visionary." 

Comte  Desmaisons  declared  that  El  Greco  was 
his  favourite  painter.  In  his  inmost  heart  Blanc- 
mesnil  was  not  so  entirely  struck  with  it. 

The  door  opened,  and  Monsieur  Gaetan  quite 
unexpectedly  appeared  on  the  scene. 

He  gave  a  glance  at  the  Saint  Francis,  and  said : 

"  Bless  my  soul !  " 

Monsieur  Blancmesnil,  anxious  to  improve  his 
knowledge,  asked  him  what  he  thought  of  this 
artist  who  was  now  so  much  in  vogue.  Gaetan 
replied,  glibly  enough,  that  he  did  not  regard  El 
Greco  as  the  eccentric,  the  madman  that  people 
used  to  take  him  for.  It  was  rather  his  opinion 


224    THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

that  a  defect  of  vision  from  which  Theotocopuli 
suffered  compelled  him  to  deform  his  figures. 

"  Being  afflicted  with  astigmatism  and  strabismus," 
Gaetan  went  on,  "  he  painted  the  things  he  saw 
exactly  as  he  used  to  see  them." 

Comte  Desmaisons  was  not  readily  disposed  to 
accept  so  natural  an  explanation,  which,  however, 
by  its  very  simplicity,  highly  commended  itself  to 
Monsieur  Blancmesnil. 

Pere  Guinardon,  quite  beside  himself,  exclaimed  : 

"  Are  you  going  to  tell  me,  Monsieur  d'Esparvieu, 
that  Saint  John  was  astigmatic  because  he  beheld 
a  woman  clothed  with  the  sun,  crowned  with  stars, 
with  the  moon  about  her  feet ;  the  Beast  with 
seven  heads  and  ten  horns,  and  the  seven  angels 
robed  in  white  linen  that  bore  the  seven  cups  filled 
with  the  wrath  of  the  Living  God  ?  " 

"  After  all,"  said  Monsieur  Gaetan,  by  way 
of  conclusion,  "  people  are  right  in  admiring  El 
Greco  if  he  had  genius  enough  to  impose  his 
morbidity  of  vision  upon  them.  By  the  same 
token,  the  contortions  to  which  he  subjects  the 
human  countenance  may  give  satisfaction  to  those 
who  love  suffering, — a  class  more  numerous  than  is 
generally  supposed. 

"  Monsieur,"  replied  the  Comte  Desmaisons, 
stroking  his  luxuriant  beard  with  his  long,  thin 
hand,  "  we  must  love  those  that  love  us.  Suffering 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    225 

loves  us  and  attaches  itself  to  us.  We  must  love  it 
if  life  is  to  be  supportable  to  us.  In  the  knowledge  of 
this  truth  lies  the  strength  and  value  of  Christianity. 
Alas !  I  do  not  possess  the  gift  of  Faith.  It  is  that 
which  drives  me  to  despair." 

The  old  man  thought  of  her  for  whom  he  had 
been  mourning  twenty  years,  and  forthwith  his 
reason  left  him,  and  his  thoughts  abandoned 
themselves  unresistingly  to  the  morbid  imaginings 
of  gentle  and  melancholy  madness. 

Having,  he  said,  made  a  study  of  psychic  matters, 
and  having,  with  the  co-operation  of  a  favourable 
medium,  carried  out  experiments  concerning  the 
nature  and  duration  of  the  soul,  he  had  obtained 
some  remarkable  results,  which,  however,  did  not 
afford  him  complete  satisfaction.  He  had  succeeded 
in  viewing  the  soul  of  his  dead  wife  under  the 
appearance  of  a  transparent  and  gelatinous  mass 
which  bore  not  the  slightest  resemblance  to  his 
adored  one.  The  most  painful  part  about  the  whole 
experiment — which  he  had  repeated  over  and  over 
again — was  that  the  gelatinous  mass,  which  was 
furnished  with  a  number  of  extremely  slender 
tentacles,  maintained  them  in  constant  motion  in 
time  to  a  rhythm  apparently  intended  to  make 
certain  signs,  but  of  what  these  movements  were 
supposed  to  convey  there  was  not  the  slightest  clue. 

During   the   whole   of  this   narrative   Monsieur 


Blancmesnil  had  been  whispering  in  a  corner  with 
the  youthful  Octavie,  who  sat  mute  and  still,  with 
her  eyes  on  the  ground. 

Now  Zephyrine  had  by  no  means  made  up  her 
mind  to  resign  her  lover  into  the  hands  of  an 
unworthy  rival.  She  would  often  go  round  of  a 
morning,  with  her  shopping-basket  on  her  arm,  and 
prowl  about  outside  the  curio  shop.  Torn  betwixt 
grief  and  rage,  tormented  by  warring  ideas,  she 
sometimes  thought  she  would  empty  a  sauce- 
panful  of  vitriol  on  the  head  of  the  faithless  one ; 
at  others  that  she  would  fling  herself  at  his  feet, 
and  shower  tears  and  kisses  on  his  precious  hands. 
One  day,  as  she  was  thus  eyeing  her  Michel — her 
beloved  but  guilty  Michel — she  noticed  through 
the  window  the  fair  and  youthful  Octavie,  who 
was  sitting  with  her  embroidery  at  a  table  upon 
which,  in  a  vase  of  crystal,  a  rose  was  swooning  to 
death.  Zephyrine,  in  a  transport  of  fury,  brought 
down  her  umbrella  on  her  rival's  fair  head,  and 
called  her  a  bitch  and  a  trollop.  Octavie  fled  in  terror, 
and  ran  for  the  police,  while  Zephyrine,  beside 
herself  with  grief  and  love,  kept  digging  away 
with  her  old  gamp  at  the  Gimblette  of  Fragonard, 
the  fuliginous  Saint  Francis  of  El  Greco,  the 
virgins,  the  nymphs,  and  the  apostles,  and  knocked 
the  gilt  off  the  Fra  Angelico,  shrieking  all  the 
while : 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE   ANGELS    227 

"  All  those  pictures  there,  the  El  Greco,  the 
Beato  Angelico,  the  Fragonard,  the  Gerard  David 
and  the  Baudouins — Guinardon  painted  the  whole 
lot  of  them  himself,  the  wretch,  the  scoundrel !  That 
Fra  Angelico  there,  why  I  saw  him  painting  it  on 
my  ironing-board,  and  that  Gerard  David  he 
executed  on  an  old  midwife's  sign-board.  You  and 
that  bitch  of  yours,  why,  I'll  do  for  the  pair  of  you 
just  as  I'm  doing  for  these  pictures." 

And  tugging  away  at  the  coat  of  an  aged  collector 
who,  trembling  all  over,  had  hidden  himself  in  the 
darkest  corner  of  the  shop,  she  called  him  to 
witness  to  the  crimes  of  Guinardon,  perjurer 
and  impostor.  The  police  had  simply  to  tear  her 
out  of  the  ruined  shop.  As  she  was  being  taken  off 
to  the  station,  followed  by  a  great  crowd  of  people, 
she  raised  her  fiery  eyes  to  Heaven,  crying  in  a  voice 
choked  with  sobs : 

"  But  don't  you  know  Michel  ?  If  you  knew 
him,  you  would  understand  that  it  is  impossible 
to  live  without  him.  Michel !  He  is  handsome, 
and  good  and  charming.  He  is  a  very  god.  He  is 
Love  itself.  I  love  him  !  I  love  him  !  I  love  him  ! 
I  have  known  men  high  up  in  the  world — Dukes, 
Ministers  of  State,  and  higher  still.  Not  one  of 
them  was  worthy  to  clean  the  mud  off  Michel's 
boots.  My  good,  kind  sirs,  give  him  back  to  me 
again." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

WHEREIN  WE  ARE  PERMITTED  TO  OBSERVE  THE 
ADMIRABLE  CHARACTER  OF  BOUCHOTTE,  WHO 
RESISTS  VIOLENCE  BUT  YIELDS  TO  LOVE.  AFTER 
THAT  LET  NO  ONE  CALL  THE  AUTHOR  A 
MISOGYNIST 

N  coming  away  from  the  Baron 
Everdingen's,  Prince  Istar  went  to 
have  a  few  oysters  and  a  bottle  of 
white  wine  at  an  eating-house  in 
the  Market.  Then,  being  prudent 
as  well  as  powerful,  he  paid  a  visit  to  his  friend, 
Theophile  Belais,  for  his  pockets  were  full  of 
bombs,  and  he  wanted  to  secrete  them  in  the 
musician's  cupboard.  The  composer  of  Aline, 
Queen  of  Golconda  was  not  at  home.  However, 
the  Kerub  found  Bouchotte  busily  working  up 
the  role  of  Zigouille  ;  for  the  young  artiste  was 
booked  to  play  the  principal  part  in  Les  Apaches, 
an  operetta  that  was  then  being  rehearsed  in  one 
of  the  big  music  hallsi  The  part  in  question 
was  that  of  a  street-walker  who  by  her  obscene 
gestures  lures  a  passer-by  into  a  trap,  and  then, 

228 


229 

while  her  victim  is  being  gagged  and  bound, 
repeats  with  fiendish  cruelty  the  lascivious  motions 
by  which  he  had  been  led  astray.  The  part  required 
that  she  should  appear  both  as  mime  and  singer, 
and  she  was  in  a  state  of  high  enthusiasm  about 
it. 

The  accompanist  had  just  left.  Prince  Istar 
seated  himself  at  the  piano,  and  Bouchotte  resumed 
her  task.  Her  movements  were  unseemly  and 
delicious.  Her  tawny  hair  was  flying  in  all  direc- 
tions in  wild  disordered  curls ;  her  skin  was  moist, 
it  exhaled  a  scent  of  violets  and  alkaline  salts  which 
made  the  nostrils  throb  ;  even  she  herself  felt  the 
intoxication.  Suddenly,  inebriated  with  her  intoxi- 
cating presence,  Prince  Istar  arose,  and  with  never 
a  word  or  a  look,  caught  her  into  his  arms  and  drew 
her  on  to  the  couch,  the  little  couch  with  the  flowered 
tapestry  which  Theophile  had  procured  at  one  of  the 
big  shops  by  promising  to  pay  ten  francs  a  month 
for  a  long  term  of  years.  Now  Istar  might  have 
solicited  Bouchotte's  favours ;  he  might  have  invited 
her  to  a  rapid,  and,  withal,  a  mutual  embrace,  and, 
despite  her  preoccupation  and  excitement,  she 
would  not  have  refused  him.  But  Bouchotte  was 
a  girl  of  spirit.  The  merest  hint  of  coercion  awoke 
all  her  untameable  pride.  She  would  consent  of 
her  own  accord,  yes ;  but  be  mastered,  never  ! 
She  would  readily  yield  to  love,  curiosity,  pity,  to 


230    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

less  than  that  even,  but  she  would  die  rather  than 
yield  to  force.  Her  surprise  immediately  gave 
place  to  fury.  She  fought  her  aggressor  with  all  her 
heart  and  soul.  With  nails,  to  which  fury  lent  an 
added  edge,  she  tore  at  the  cheeks  and  eyelids  of 
the  Kerub,  and,  though  he  held  her  as  in  a  vice,  she 
arched  herself  so  stiffly  and  made  such  excellent 
play  with  knee  and  elbow,  that  the  human-headed 
bull,  blinded  with  blood  and  rage,  was  sent  crashing 
into  the  piano  which  gave  forth  a  prolonged  groan, 
while  the  bombs,  tumbling  out  of  his  pockets,  fell  on 
the  floor  with  a  noise  like  thunder.  And  Bouchotte, 
with  dishevelled  locks,  and  one  breast  bare,  beautiful 
and  terrible,  stood  brandishing  the  poker  over  the 
prostrate  giant,  crying : 

"  Be  off  with  you,  or  I'll  put  your  eyes  out !  " 
Prince  Istar  went  to  wash  himself  in  the  kitchen, 
and  plunged  his  gory  visage  into  a  basin  where 
some  haricot  beans  lay  soaking  ;  then  he  withdrew 
without  anger  or  resentment,  for  he  had  a  noble 
soul. 

Scarcely  had  he  gone  when  the  door-bell  rang. 
Bouchotte,  calling  upon  the  absent  maid  in  vain, 
slipped  on  a  dressing-gown  and  opened  the  door 
herself.  A  young  man,  very  correct  in  appearance 
and  rather  good-looking,  bowed  politely,  and 
apologising  for  having  to  introduce  himself,  gave 
his  name.  It  was  Maurice  d'Esparvieu. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    231 

Maurice  was  still  seeking  his  guardian  angel. 
Upheld  by  a  desperate  hope,  he  sought  him  in 
the  queerest  places.  He  enquired  for  him  at  the 
houses  of  sorcerers,  magicians,  and  thaumaturgists, 
who  in  filthy  hovels  lay  bare  the  ineffable  secrets  of 
the  future,  and  who,  though  masters  of  all  the 
treasures  of  the  earth,  wear  trousers  without  any 
seats  to  them,  and  eat  pigs'  brains.  That  very  day, 
having  been  to  a  back  street  in  Montmartre  to 
consult  a  priest  of  Satan,  who  practised  black 
magic  by  piercing  waxen  images,  Maurice  had 
gone  on  to  Bouchotte's,  having  been  sent  by 
Madame  de  la  Verdeliere,  who,  being  about  to  give 
a  fete  in  aid  of  the  fund  for  the  Preservation  of 
Country  Churches,  was  anxious  to  secure  Bouchotte's 
services,  since  she  had  suddenly  become — no  one 
knew  why — a  fashionable  artiste. 

Bouchotte  invited  the  visitor  to  sit  down  on 
the  little  flowered  couch  ;  at  his  request  she  seated 
herself  beside  him,  and  our  young  man  of  fashion 
explained  to  the  singer  what  Madame  de  la  Verde- 
liere desired  of  her.  The  lady  wished  Bouchotte  to 
sing  one  of  those  apache  songs  which  were  giving 
such  delight  in  the  fashionable  world.  Unfortu- 
nately Madame  de  la  Verdeliere  could  only  offer  a 
very  modest  fee,  one  out  of  all  proportion  to  the 
merits  of  the  artiste,  but  then  it  was  for  a  good 
cause. 


232    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

Bouchotte  agreed  to  take  part,  and  accepted  the 
reduced  fee  with  the  accustomed  liberality  of  the 
poor  towards  the  rich  and  of  artists  towards  society 
people.  Bouchotte  was  not  a  selfish  girl ;  the  work 
for  the  preservation  of  country  churches  interested 
her.  She  remembered  with  sobs  and  tears  her  first 
communion,  and  she  still  retained  her  faith.  When 
she  passed  by  a  church  she  wanted  to  enter  it, 
especially  in  the  evening.  And  so  she  did  not  love 
the  Republic  which  had  done  its  utmost  to  destroy 
both  the  Church  and  the  Army.  Her  heart  re- 
joiced to  see  the  re-birth  of  national  sentiment. 
France  was  lifting  up  her  head.  What  was  most 
applauded  in  the  music  halls  were  songs  about  the 
soldiers  and  the  kind  nuns.  Meanwhile  Maurice 
inhaled  the  odour  of  her  tawny  hair,  the  subtle 
bitter  perfume  of  her  body,  all  the  odours  of  her 
person,  and  desire  grew  in  him.  He  felt  her  near  him 
on  the  little  couch,  very  warm  and  very  soft.  He 
complimented  the  artist  on  her  great  talent.  She 
asked  him  what  he  liked  best  in  all  her  repertory. 
He  knew  nothing  about  it,  still  he  made  replies  that 
satisfied  her.  She  had  dictated  them  herself  without 
knowing  it.  The  vain  creature  spoke  of  her  talent,  of 
her  success,  as  she  wished  others  to  speak  of  them. 
She  never  ceased  talking  of  her  triumphs,  yet  withal 
she  was  candour  itself.  Maurice  in  all  sincerity  praised 
Bouchotte's  beauty,  her  fresh  skin,  her  purity  of 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    233 

line.  She  attributed  this  advantage  to  the  fact 
that  she  never  made  up  and  never  "  put  messes  on 
her  face."  As  to  her  figure,  she  admitted  that  there 
was  enough  everywhere  and  none  too  much,  and 
to  illustrate  this  assertion  she  passed  her  hands  over 
all  the  contours  of  her  charming  body,  rising  lightly 
to  follow  the  delightful  curves  on  which  she  reposed. 

Maurice  was  quite  moved  by  it.  It  began  to 
grow  dark ;  she  offered  to  light  up.  He  begged 
her  to  do  nothing  of  the  sort. 

Their  talk,  at  first  gay  and  full  of  laughter, 
grew  more  intimate  and  very  sweet,  with  a  certain 
languor  in  its  tone.  It  seemed  to  Bouchotte  that 
she  had  known  Monsieur  Maurice  d'Esparvieu  for  a 
long  time,  and  holding  him  for  a  man  of  delicacy,  she 
gave  him  her  confidence.  She  told  him  that  she  was 
by  nature  a  good  woman,  but  that  she  had  had  a 
grasping  and  unscrupulous  mother.  Maurice  re- 
called her  to  the  consideration  of  her  own  beauty, 
and  exalted  by  subtle  flattery  the  excellent  opinion 
she  had  of  herself.*  Patient  and  calculating,  in 
spite  of  the  burning  desire  growing  in  him,  he 
aroused  and  increased  in  the  desired  one  the  longing 
to  be  still  further  admired.  The  dressing-gown 
opened  and  slipped  down  of  its  own  accord,  the 
living  satin  of  her  shoulders  gleamed  in  the  mysterious 
light  of  evening.  He — so  prudent,  so  clever, 
so  adroit, — let  her  sink  in  his  arms,  ardent  and 


234    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

half  swooning  before  she  had  even  perceived  she 
had  granted  anything  at  all.  Their  breath  and 
their  murmurs  intermingled.  And  the  little  flowery 
couch  sighed  in  sympathy  with  them. 

When  they  recovered  the  power  to  express 
their  feelings  in  words,  she  whispered  in  his  ear 
that  his  cheek  was  even  softer  than  her  own. 

He  answered,  holding  her  embraced : 

"  It  is  charming  to  hold  you  like  this.  One 
would  think  you  had  no  bones." 

She  replied,  closing  her  eyes : 

"  It  is  because  I  love  you.  Love  seems  to  dissolve 
my  bones ;  it  makes  me  as  soft  and  melting  as  a 
pig's  foot  a  la  Ste.  Menehould. 

Hereupon  Theophile  came  in,  and  Bouchotte 
called  upon  him  to  thank  Monsieur  Maurice 
d'Esparvieu,  who  had  been  amiable  enough  to 
be  the  bearer  of  a  handsome  offer  from  Madame 
la  Comtesse  de  la  Verdeliere. 

The  musician  was  happy,  feeling  the  quiet  and 
peace  of  the  house  after  a  day  of  fruitless  applica- 
tions, of  colourless  lessons,  of  failure  and  humiliation, 
Three  new  collaborators  had  been  thrust  upon  him 
who  would  add  their  signatures  to  his  on  his  operetta, 
and  receive  their  share  of  the  author's  rights,  and  he 
had  been  told  to  introduce  the  tango  into  the  Court 
of  Golconda.  He  pressed  young  d'Esparvieu's  hand 
and  dropped  wearily  on  to  the  little  couch,  which, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     235 

being  now  at  the  end  of  its  strength,  gave  way  at 
the  four  legs  and  suddenly  collapsed. 

And  the  angel,  precipitated  to  the  ground, 
rolled  terror-struck  on  to  the  watch,  match-box 
and  cigarette-case  that  had  fallen  from  Maurice's 
pocket,  and  on  to  the  bombs  Prince  Istar  had  left 
behind  him. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

CONTAINING  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  VICISSITUDES  THAT 
BEFEL  THE  "  LUCRETIUS  "  OF  THE  PRIOR  DE 
VENDOME 

EGER-MASSIEU,  successor  to  Leger 
senior,  the  binder,  whose  establish- 
ment was  in  the  rue  de  PAbbaye, 
opposite  the  old  Hotel  of  the  Abbes 
of  Saint  Germain-des-Pres,  in  the 
hotbed  of  ancient  schools  and  learned  societies, 
employed  an  excellent  but  by  no  means  numerous 
staff  of  workmen,  and  served  with  leisurely  delibera- 
tion a  clientele  who  had  learned  to  practise  the 
virtue  of  patience.  Six  weeks  had  elapsed  since 
he  had  received  the  parcel  of  books  that  had  been 
despatched  by  Monsieur  Sariette,  but  still  Leger- 
Massieu  had  not  yet  put  the  work  in  hand.  It 
was  not  until  fifty-three  days  had  come  and  gone, 
that,  after  calling  over  the  books  against  the  list 
that  had  been  drawn  up  by  Monsieur  Sariette, 
the  binder  gave  them  out  to  his  workmen. 
The  little  Lucretius  with  the  Prior  de  Vendome's 
arms  not  being  mentioned  on  the  list,  it  was 

236 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    237 

assumed  that  it  had  been  sent  by  another  customer. 
And  as  it  did  not  figure  on  any  list  of  goods  received 
it  remained  shut  up  in  a  cupboard,  from  which 
Leger-Massieu's  son,  the  youthful  Ernest,  one  day 
surreptitiously  abstracted  it,  and  slipped  it  into 
his  pocket.  Ernest  was  in  love  with  a  neighbouring 
seamstress  whose  name  was  Rose.  Rose  was  fond 
of  the  country,  and  liked  to  hear  the  birds  singing 
in  the  woods,  and  in  order  to  procure  the  where- 
withal to  take  her  to  Chatou  one  Sunday  and  give 
her  a  dinner,  Ernest  parted  with  the  Lucretius 
for  ten  francs  to  old  Moranger,  a  second-hand 

dealer  in  the  rue   Saint  X ,  who  displayed  no 

great  curiosity  regarding  the  origin  of  his  acquisitions. 
Old  Moranger  handed  over  the  volume,  the  very 
same  day,  to  Monsieur  Poussard,  an  expert  in  books, 
of  the  faubourg  Saint  Germain,  for  sixty  francs. 
The  latter  removed  the  stamp  which  disclosed  the 
ownership  of  the  matchless  copy,  and  sold  it  for 
five  hundred  francs  to  Monsieur  Joseph  Meyer, 
the  well-known  collector,  who  handed  it  straight 
away  for  three  thousand  francs  to  Monsieur  Ardon, 
the  bookseller,  who  immediately  transferred  it  to 

Monsieur   R ,   the  great   Parisian   bibliopolist, 

who  gave  six  thousand  for  it,  and  sold  it  again  a 
fortnight  later  at  a  handsome  profit  to  Madame  la 
Comtesse  de  Gorce.  Well  known  in  the  higher 
ranks  of  Parisian  society,  the  lady  in  question  is 


238    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

what  was  called  in  the  seventeenth  century  a 
"  curieuse,"  that  is  to  say,  a  lover,  of  pictures, 
books  and  china.  In  her  mansion  in  the  Avenue 
d'Jena  she  possesses  collections  of  works  of  art 
which  bear  witness  to  the  diversity  of  her  knowledge 
and  the  excellence  of  her  taste.  During  the  month 
of  July,  while  the  Comtesse  de  Gorce  was  away  at 
her  chateau  at  Sarville,  in  Normandy,  the  house  in 
the  Avenue  d'Jena,  being  unoccupied,  was  visited 
one  night  by  a  thief  said  to  belong  to  a  gang  known 
as  "  The  Collectors,"  who  made  works  of  art  the 
special  objects  of  their  raids. 

The  police  enquiry  elicited  the  fact  that  the 
marauder  had  reached  the  first  floor  by  means  of 
the  waste-pipe,  that  he  had  then  climbed  over  the 
balcony,  forced  a  shutter  with  a  jemmy,  broken  a  pane 
of  glass,  turned  the  window-fastener,  and  made  his 
way  into  the  long  gallery.  There  he  broke  open 
several  cupboards  and  possessed  himself  of  whatever 
took  his  fancy.  His  booty  consisted  for  the  most 
part  of  small  but  valuable  articles,  such  as  gold 
caskets,  a  few  ivory  carvings  of  the  fourteenth 
century,  two  splendid  fifteenth-century  manuscripts, 
and  a  volume  which  the  Countess's  secretary  briefly 
described  as  "  a  morocco-bound  book  with  a  coat 
of  arms  on  it,"  and  which  was  none  other  than  the 
Lucretius  from  the  d'Esparvieu  library. 

The   malefactor,   who   was   supposed   t6   be   an 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     239 

English  cook,  was  never  discovered.  But,  two 
months  or  so  after  the  theft,  a  well-dressed,  clean- 
shaven young  man  passed  down  the  rue  de  Cour- 
celles,  in  the  dimness  of  twilight,  and  went  to  offer 
the  Prior  de  Vendome's  Lucretius  to  Pere  Guinardon. 
The  antiquary  gave  him  four  shillings  for  it, 
examined  it  carefully,  recognised  its  interest  and 
its  beauty,  and  put  it  in  the  king-wood  cabinet, 
where  he  kept  his  special  treasures. 

Such  were  the  vicissitudes  which,  in  the  course 
of  a  single  season,  befel  this  thing  of  beauty. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

WHEREIN    MAURICE   FINDS   HIS  ANGEL  AGAIN 


HE  performance  was  over.  Bouchotte 
in  her  dressing-room  was  taking  off 
her  make-up,  when  the  door  opened 
softly  and  old  Monsieur  Sandraque, 
her  protector,  came  in,  followed  by  a 
troop  of  her  other  admirers.  Without  so  much  as 
turning  her  head,  she  asked  them  what  they  meant 
by  coming  and  staring  at  her  like  a  pack  of  imbeciles, 
and  whether  they  thought  they  were  in  a  tent  at 
the  Neuilly  Fair,  looking  at  the  freak  woman. 

"Now  then,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  she  rattled 
on  derisively,  "just  put  a  penny  in  the  box  for  the 
young  lady's  marriage-portion,  and  she'll  let  you  feel 
her  legs, — all  made  of  marble  !  " 

Then  with  an  angry  glance  at  the  admiring 
throng,  she  exclaimed :  "  Come,  off  you  go  !  Look 
alive  !  " 

She  sent  them  all  packing,  her  sweetheart 
Theophile  among  them, — the  pale-faced,  long- 
haired, gentle,  melancholy,  short-sighted  and 
dreamy  Theophile. 

240 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    241 

But  recognising  her  little  Maurice,  she  gave  him 
a  smile.  He  approached  her,  and  leaning  over  the 
back  of  the  chair  on  which  she  was  seated,  con- 
gratulated her  on  her  playing  and  singing,  duly 
performing  a  kiss  at  the  end  of  every  compliment. 
She  did  not  let  him  escape  thus,  and  with  reiterated 
enquiries,  pressing  solicitations,  feigned  incredulity, 
obliged  him  to  repeat  his  stock  panegyrics  three  or 
four  times  over,  and  when  he  stopped  she  seemed  so 
disappointed  that  he  was  forced  to  take  up  the 
strain  again  immediately.  He  found  it  trying, 
for  he  was  no  connoisseur,  but  he  had  the  pleasure 
of  kissing  her  plump  curved  shoulders  all  golden  in 
the  light,  and  of  catching  glimpses  of  her  pretty 
face  in  the  mirror  over  the  toilet-table. 

"  You  were  delicious." 

"  Really  ?  ...  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Adorable  .  .  .  div " 

Suddenly  he  gave  a  loud  cry.  His  eyes  had  seen 
in  the  mirror  a  face  appear  at  the  back  of  the 
dressing-room.  He  turned  swiftly  round,  flung  his 
arms  about  Arcade,  and  drew  him  into  the  corridor. 

"  What  manners  ! "  exclaimed  Bouchotte,  gasping. 

But,  pushing  his  way  through  a  troop  of  per- 
forming dogs  and  a  family  of  American  acrobats, 
young  d'Esparvieu  dragged  his  angel  towards  the 
exit. 

He   hurried   him   forth   into   the   cool   darkness 


242    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE   ANGELS 

of  the  boulevard,  delirious  with  joy  and  wondering 
whether  it  was  all  too  good  to  be  true. 

"  Here  you  are  ! "  he  cried ;  "  here  you  are  ! 
I  have  been  looking  for  you  a  long  time,  Arcade, — 
or  Mirar  if  you  like, — and  I  have  found  you  at 
last.  Arcade,  you  have  taken  my  guardian  angel 
from  me.  Give  him  back  to  me.  Arcade,  do  you 
love  me  still  I  " 

Arcade  replied  that  in  accomplishing  the  super- 
angelic  task  he  had  set  himself  he  had  been  forced 
to  crush  under  foot  friendship,  pity,  love  and  all 
those  feelings  which  tend  to  soften  the  soul ;  but 
that,  on  the  other  hand,  his  new  state,  by  exposing 
him  to  suffering  and  privation,  disposed  him  to 
love  Humanity,  and  that  he  felt  a  certain  mechanical 
friendship  for  his  poor  Maurice. 

"  Well,  then,"  exclaimed  Maurice,  "  if  only 
you  love  me,  come  back  to  me,  stay  with  me. 
I  cannot  do  without  you.  While  I  had  you  with 
me  I  was  not  aware  of  your  presence.  But  no 
sooner  did  you  depart  than  I  felt  a  horrible  blank. 
Without  you  I  am  like  a  body  without  a  soul.  Do 
you  know  that  in  the  little  flat  in  the  rue  de  Rome, 
with  Gilberte  by  my  side,  I  feel  lonely,  I  miss  you 
sorely,  and  long  to  see  you  and  to  hear  you  as  I 
did  that  day  when  you  made  me  so  angry.  Con- 
fess I  was  right,  and  that  your  behaviour  on 
that  occasion  was  not  that  of  a  gentleman. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    243 

That  you,  you  of  so  high  an  origin,  so  noble  a 
mind,  could  commit  such  an  indiscretion  is  extra- 
ordinary, when  one  comes  to  think  about  it. 
Madame  des  Aubels  has  not  yet  forgiven  you. 
She  blames  you  for  having  frightened  her  by 
appearing  at  such  an  inconvenient  moment,  and 
for  being  insolent  and  forward  while  hooking  her 
dress  and  tying  her  shoes.  I,  I  have  forgotten 
everything.  I  only  remember  that  you  are  my 
celestial  brother,  the  saintly  companion  of  my 
childhood.  No,  Arcade,  you  must  not,  you  cannot 
leave  me.  You  are  my  angel ;  you  are  my  property." 

Arcade  explained  to  young  d'Esparvieu  that  he 
could  no  longer  be  guiding  angel  to  a  Christian, 
having  himself  gone  down  into  the  pit.  And  he 
painted  a  horrible  picture  of  himself ;  he  described 
himself  as  breathing  hatred  and  fury  ;  in  fact,  an 
infernal  spirit. 

"All  nonsense!"  said  Maurice,  smiling,  his  eyes 
big  with  tears. 

"Alas!  our  ideas,  our  destiny,  everything  tends 
to  part  us,  Maurice.  But  I  cannot  stifle  the  ten- 
derness I  feel  for  you,  and  your  candour  forces 
me  to  love  you." 

"  No,"  sighed  Maurice.  "  You  do  not  love  me. 
You  have  never  loved  me.  In  a  brother  or  a  sister 
such  indifference  would  be  natural ;  in  a  friend 
it  would  be  ordinary  ;  in  a  guardian  angel  it  is 


244    THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

monstrous.     Arcade,  you  are  an  abominable  being. 
I  hate  you." 

"  I  have  loved  you  dearly,  Maurice,  and  I  still 
love  you.  You  trouble  my  heart  which  I  deemed 
encased  in  triple  bronze.  You  show  me  my  own 
weakness.  When  you  were  a  little  innocent  boy  I 
loved  you  as  tenderly  and  purely  as  Miss  Kate, 
your  English  governess,  who  caressed  you  with 
so  much  fervour.  In  the  country,  when  the 
thin  bark  of  the  plane  trees  peels  off  in  long  strips 
and  discloses  the  tender  green  trunk,  after  the 
rains  which  make  the  fine  sand  run  on  the  sloping 
paths,  I  showed  you  how  with  that  sand,  those 
strips  of  bark,  a  few  wild  flowers  and  a  spray 
of  maiden-hair  fern,  to  make  rustic  bridges,  rustic 
shelters,  terraces,  and  those  gardens  of  Adonis, 
which  last  but  an  hour.  During  the  month  of 
May  in  Paris  we  raised  an  altar  to  the  Virgin,  and 
we  burnt  incense  before  it,  the  scent  of  which, 
permeating  all  the  house,  reminded  Marcelline,  the 
cook,  of  her  village  church  and  her  lost  innocence, 
and  drew  from  her  floods  of  tears  ;  it  also  gave  your 
mother  a  headache,  your  mother  who,  with  all  her 
wealth,  was  crushed  with  the  ennui  that  is  common 
to  the  fortunate  ones  of  this  world.  When  you 
went  to  college  I  interested  myself  in  your  progress, 
I  shared  your  work  and  your  play,  I  pondered  with 
you  over  arduous  problems  in  arithmetic,  I  sought 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    245 

the  impenetrable  meaning  of  a  phrase  of  Julius 
Caesar's.  What  fine  games  of  prisoners'  base  and 
football  we  had  together  !  More  than  once  did  we 
know  the  intoxication  of  victory,  and  our  young 
laurels  were  not  soaked  in  blood  or  tears.  Maurice, 
I  did  all  I  could  to  protect  your  innocence,  but  I 
could  not  prevent  your  losing  it  at  the  age  of 
fourteen.  Afterwards  I  regretfully  saw  you  loving 
women  of  all  sorts,  of  divers  ages,  by  no  means 
beautiful,  at  least  in  the  eyes  of  an  angel.  Sad- 
dened at  the  sight,  I  devoted  myself  to  study ;  a 
fine  library  offered  me  resources  rarely  met  with. 
I  delved  into  the  history  of  religions ;  you  know 
the  rest." 

"  But  now,  my  dear  Arcade,"  concluded  young 
d'Esparvieu,  "  you  have  lost  your  position,  your 
situation,  you  are  entirely  without  resource.  You 
have  lost  caste,  you  are  off  the  lines,  a  vagabond,  a 
bare-footed  wanderer." 

The  Angel  replied  bitterly  that,  after  all,  he 
was  a  little  better  clad  at  present  than  when  he 
was  wearing  the  slops  of  a  suicide. 

Maurice  alleged  in  excuse  that  when  he  dressed 
his  naked  angel  in  a  suicide's  slops,  he  was  irritated 
with  that  angel's  infidelity.  But  it  was  useless  to 
dwell  on  the  past  or  to  recriminate.  What  was 
really  needful  was  to  consider  what  steps  to  take  in 
future. 


246    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

And  he  asked : 

"  Arcade,  what  do  you  think  of  doing  ?  " 

"  Have  I  not  already  told  you,  Maurice  ?  To 
fight  with  Him  who  reigns  in  the  heavens,  dethrone 
Him,  and  set  up  Satan  in  His  stead." 

"  You  will  not  do  it.  To  begin  with,  it  is  not  the 
opportune  moment.  Opinion  is  not  with  you. 
You  will  not  be  in  the  swim,  as  papa  says.  Con- 
servatism and  authority  are  all  the  go  nowadays. 
We  like  to  be  ruled,  and  the  President  of  the 
Republic  is  going  to  parley  with  the  Pope.  Do  not 
be  obstinate,  Arcade.  You  are  not  as  bad  as  you 
say.  At  bottom  you  are  like  the  rest  of  the  world, 
you  adore  the  good  God." 

"  I  thought  I  had  already  explained  to  you, 
Maurice,  that  He  whom  you  consider  God  is 
actually  but  a  demiurge.  He  is  absolutely  ignorant 
of  the  divine  world  above  him,  and  in  all  good 
faith  believes  himself  to  be  the  true  and  only 
God.  You  will  find  in  the  History  of  the  Church,  by 
Monsignor  Duchesne — Vol.  I,  page  162 — that  this 
proud  and  narrow-minded  demiurge  is  named  lalda- 
baoth.  My  child,  so  as  not  to  ruffle  your  prejudices 
and  to  deal  gently  with  your  feelings  in  future, 
that  is  the  name  I  shall  give  him.  If  it  should 
happen  that  I  should  speak  of  him  to  you,  I  shall 
call  him  laldabaoth.  I  must  leave  you.  Adieu." 
"  Stay " 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS  247 

"  I  cannot." 

"  I  shall  not  let  you  go  thus.  You  have  deprived 
me  of  my  guardian  angel.  It  is  for  you  to  repair 
the  injury  you  have  caused  me.  Give  me  another 
one." 

Arcade  objected  that  it  was  difficult  for  him  to 
satisfy  such  a  demand.  That  having  quarrelled 
with  the  sovereign  dispenser  of  guardian  Spirits, 
he  could  obtain  nothing  from  that  quarter. 

"  My  dear  Maurice,"  he  added,  smiling,  "  ask 
for  one  yourself  from  laldabaoth." 

"  No, — no, — no,"  exclaimed  Maurice.  "  You 
have  taken  away  my  guardian  angel, — give  him 
back  to  me." 

"  Alas !   I  cannot." 

"  Is  it,  Arcade,  because  you  are  a  revolutionary 
that  you  cannot  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  An  enemy  of  God  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  A  Satanic  spirit  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  then,"  exclaimed  young  Maurice,  '"  I 
will  be  your  guardian  angel, — I  will  not  leave  you." 

And  Maurice  d'Esparvieu  took  Arcade  to  have 
some  oysters  at  P — 's. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   CONCLAVE 

HAT  day,  convoked  by  Arcade  and 
Zita,  the  rebellious  angels  met  to- 
gether on  the  banks  of  the  Seine 
at  La  Jonchere,  in  a  deserted  and 
tumble  -  down  entertainment  -  hall 
that  Prince  Istar  had  hired  from  a  pot-house 
keeper  called  Barattan.  Three  hundred  angels 
crowded  together  in  the  stalls  and  boxes.  A  table, 
an  arm-chair  and  a  collection  of  small  chairs  were 
arranged  on  the  stage,  where  hung  the  tattered 
remnants  of  a  piece  of  rustic  scenery.  The  walls, 
coloured  in  distemper  with  flowers  and  fruit, 
were  cracked  and  stained  with  damp,  and  were 
crumbling  away  in  flakes.  The  vulgar  and  poverty- 
stricken  appearance  of  the  place  rendered  the 
grandeur  of  the  passions  exhibited  therein  all  the 
more  striking. 

When  Prince  Istar  asked  the  assembly  to  form 
its  Committee,  and  first  of  all  to  elect  a  President, 
the  name  that  was  renowned  throughout  the  world 
entered  the  minds  of  all  present,  but  a  religious 

248 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE    ANGELS    249 

respect  sealed  their  lips ;  and  after  a  moment's 
silence,  the  absent  Nectaire  was  elected  by  acclama- 
tion. Having  been  invited  to  take  the  chair  between 
Zita  and  an  angel  of  Japan,  Arcade  immediately 
began  as  follows : 

"  Sons  of  Heaven  !  My  comrades !  You  ha-ve 
freed  yourselves  from  the  bonds  of  celestial  servitude 
— you  have  shaken  off  the  thrall  of  him  called 
lahveh,  but  to  whom  we  should  here  accord  his 
veritable  name  of  laldabaoth,  for  he  is  not  the 
creator  of  the  worlds,  but  merely  an  ignorant  and 
barbarous  demiurge,  who  having  obtained  possession 
of  a  minute  portion  of  the  Universe  has  therein 
sown  suffering  and  death.  Sons  of  Heaven,  tell 
me,  I  charge  you,  whether  you  will  combat  and 
destroy  laldabaoth  ?  " 

All  with  one  voice  made  answer : 

"  We  will !  " 

And  many  speaking  all  together  swore  they 
would  scale  the  mountain  of  laldabaoth,  and  hurl 
down  the  walls  of  jasper  and  porphyry,  and  plunge 
the  tyrant  of  Heaven  into  eternal  darkness. 

But  a  voice  of  crystal  pierced  through  the  sullen 
murmur. 

'  Tremble,  ye  impious,  sacrilegious  madmen ! 
The  Lord  hath  already  lifted  his  dread  arm  to 
smite  you  !  " 

It  was  a  loyal  angel  who,  with  an  impulse  of 


250    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

faith  and  love,  envying  the  glory  of  confessors  and 
martyrs,  jealous  and  eager,  like  his  God  himself,  to 
emulate  man  in  the  beauty  of  sacrifice,  had  flung 
himself  in  the  midst  of  the  blasphemers,  to  brave 
them,  to  confound  them,  and  to  fall  beneath 
their  blows.  The  assembly  turned  upon  him  with 
furious  unanimity.  Those  nearest  to  him  over- 
whelmed him  with  blows.  He  continued  to  cry, 
in  a  clear,  ringing  voice,  "  Glory  to  God  !  Glory 
to  God!  Glory  to  God  !" 

A  rebel  seized  him  by  the  neck  and  strangled 
his  praises  of  the  Almighty  in  his  throat.  He  was 
thrown  to  the  ground,  trampled  underfoot.  Prince 
Istar  picked  him  up,  took  him  by  the  wings  between 
his  fingers,  then  rising  like  a  column  of  smoke, 
opened  a  ventilator,  which  no  one  else  could  have 
reached,  and  passed  the  faithful  angel  through  it. 
Order  was  immediately  restored. 

"  Comrades,"  continued  Arcade,  "  now  that  we 
have  affirmed  our  stern  resolve,  we  must  examine 
the  possible  plans  of  campaign,  and  choose  the  best. 
You  will  therefore  have  to  consider  if  we  should 
attack  the  enemy  in  full  force,  or  whether  it  were 
better,  by  a  lengthy  and  assiduous  propaganda,  to 
win  the  inhabitants  of  Heaven  to  our  cause." 

"  War  !  War  !  "  shouted  the  assembled  host. 

And  it  seemed  as  if  one  could  hear  the  sound  of 
trumpets  and  the  rolling  of  drums. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    251 

Theophile,  whom  Prince  Istar  had  dragged  to 
the  meeting,  rose,  pale  and  unstrung,  and,  speaking 
with  emotion,  said : 

"  Brethren,  do  not  take  ill  what  I  am  about  to 
say  ;  for  it  is  the  friendship  I  have  for  you  that 
inspires  me.  I  am  but  a  poor  musician.  But, 
believe  me,  all  your  plans  will  come  to  nought 
before  the  Divine  Wisdom  which  has  foreseen 
everything." 

Theophile  Belais  sat  down  amid  hisses.  And 
Arcade  continued : 

"  laldabaoth  foresees  everything.  I  do  not 
contest  it.  He  foresees  everything,  but  in  order 
to  leave  us  our  free  will  he  acts  towards  us  absolutely 
as  if  he  foresaw  nothing.  Every  instant  he  is 
surprised,  disconcerted  ;  the  most  probable  events 
take  him  unawares.  The  obligation  which  he  has 
undertaken  to  reconcile  with  his  prescience  the 
liberty  of  both  men  and  angels,  throws  him  con- 
stantly into  inextricable  difficulties,  and  terrible 
dilemmas.  He  never  sees  further  than  the  end  of 
his  nose.  He  did  not  expect  Adam's  disobedience, 
and  so  little  did  he  anticipate  the  wickedness  of 
men  that  he  repented  having  made  them,  and 
drowned  them  in  the  waters  of  the  Flood,  and  all 
the  animals  as  well,  though  he  had  no  fault  to  find 
with  the  animals.  For  blindness  he  is  only  to  be 
compared  with  Charles  X,  his  favourite  king.  If 


252    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

we  are  prudent  it  will  be  easy  to  take  him  by  surprise. 
I  think  that  these  observations  will  be  calculated 
to  reassure  my  brother." 

Theophile  made  no  reply.  He  loved  God,  but 
he  was  fearful  of  sharing  the  fate  of  the  faithful 
angel. 

One  of  the  best  informed  Spirits  of  the  assembly, 
Mammon,  was  not  altogether  reassured  by  the 
remarks  of  his  brother  Arcade. 

"  Bethink  you,"  said  this  Spirit,  "  laldabaoth 
has  little  general  culture,  but  he  is  a  soldier — to 
the  marrow  of  his  bones.  The  organisation  of 
Paradise  is  a  thoroughly  military  organisation.  It 
is  founded  on  hierarchy  and  discipline.  Passive 
obedience  is  imposed  there  as  a  fundamental  law. 
The  angels  form  an  army.  Compare  this  spot 
with  the  Elysian  Fields  which  Virgil  depicts  for 
you.  In  the  Elysian  Fields  reign  liberty,  reason 
and  wisdom.  The  happy  shades  hold  converse 
together  in  the  groves  of  myrtle.  In  the  Heaven  of 
laldabaoth  there  is  no  civil  population.  Everyone 
is  enrolled,  numbered,  registered.  It  is  a  barracks 
and  a  field  for  manoeuvres.  Remember  that." 

Arcade  replied  that  they  must  look  at  their 
adversary  in  his  true  colours,  and  that  the  military 
organisation  of  Paradise  was  far  more  reminiscent 
of  the  villages  of  King  Koffee,  than  of  the  Prussia 
of  Frederick  the  Great. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    253 

"  Already,"  said  he,  "  at  the  time  of  the  first 
revolt,  before  the  beginning  of  Time,  the  conflict 
raged  for  two  days,  and  laldabaoth's  throne  was 
made  to  totter.  Nevertheless,  the  demiurge  gained 
the  victory.  But  to  what  did  he  owe  it  ?  To  the 
thunderstorm  which  happened  to  come  on  during 
the  conflict.  The  thunderbolts  falling  on  Lucifer 
and  his  angels  struck  them  down,  bruised  and 
blackened,  and  laldabaoth  owed  his  victory  to  the 
thunderbolts.  Thunder  is  his  sole  weapon.  He 
abuses  its  power.  In  the  midst  of  thunder  and 
lightning  he  promulgates  his  laws.  '  Fire  goeth 
before  him,'  says  the  Prophet.  Now  Seneca,  the 
philosopher,  said  that  the  thunderbolt  in  its  fall 
brings  peril  to  very  few,  but  fear  to  all.  This 
remark  was  true  enough  for  men  of  the  first  century 
of  the  Christian  era  ;  it  is  no  longer  so  for  the 
angels  of  the  twentieth  ;  all  of  which  goes  to  prove 
that,  in  spite  of  his  thunder,  he  is  not  very  powerful ; 
it  was  acute  terror  that  made  men  rear  him  a  tower 
of  unbaked  brick  and  bitumen.  When  myriads  of 
celestial  spirits,  furnished  with  machines  which 
modern  science  puts  at  their  disposal,  make  an 
assault  upon  the  heavens,  think  you,  comrades, 
that  the  old  master  of  the  solar  system  surrounded 
with  his  angels,  armed  as  in  the  time  of  Abraham, 
will  be  able  to  resist  them  ?  To  this  day  the 
warriors  of  the  demiurge  wear  helmets  of  gold 


254    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

and  shields  of  diamond.  Michael,  his  best  captain, 
knows  no  other  tactics  than  the  hand-to-hand 
combat.  To  him  Pharaoh's  chariots  are  still  the  latest 
thing,  and  he  has  never  heard  of  the  Macedonian 
phalanx." 

And  young  Arcade  lengthily  prolonged  the 
parallel  between  the  armed  herds  of  laldabaoth 
and  the  intelligent  fighting  men  of  the  rebel  army. 
Then  the  question  of  pecuniary  resources  arose. 

Zita  asserted  that  there  was  enough  money  to 
commence  war,  that  the  electrophores  were  in  order, 
that  an  initial  victory  would  obtain  them  credit. 

The  discussion  continued,  amid  turbulence  and 
confusion.  In  this  parliament  of  angels,  as  in  the 
synods  of  men,  empty  words  flowed  in  abundance. 
Disturbances  grew  more  violent  and  more  frequent 
as  the  time  for  putting  the  resolution  drew  near. 
It  was  beyond  question  that  supreme  command 
would  be  entrusted  to  him  who  had  first  raised 
the  flag  of  revolt.  But  as  everyone  aspired  to  act 
as  Lucifer's  Lieutenant,  each  in  describing  the 
kind  of  fighting  man  to  be  preferred  drew  a  portrait 
of  himself.  Thus  Alcor,  the  youngest  of  the 
rebellious  angels,  arose  and  spoke  rapidly  as  follows : 

"  In  laldabaoth's  army,  happily  for  us,  the 
officers  obtain  their  posts  by  seniority.  This 
being  the  case,  there  is  little  likelihood  of  the 
command  falling  into  the  hands  of  a  military  genius, 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    255 

for  men  are  not  made  leaders  by  prolonged  habits 
of  obedience,  and  close  attention  to  minutiae  is 
not  a  good  apprenticeship  for  the  evolution  of 
vast  plans  of  campaign.  If  we  consult  ancient 
and  modern  history,  we  shall  see  that  the  greatest 
leaders  were  kings  like  Alexander  and  Frederkk, 
aristocrats  like  Caesar  and  Turenne,  or  men  im- 
patient of  red-tape,  like  Bonaparte.  A  routine 
man  will  always  be  poor  or  second-rate.  Comrades, 
let  us  appoint  intelligent  leaders,  men  in  the 
prime  of  life,  to  command  us.  An  old  man  may 
retain  the  habit  of  winning  victories,  but  only  a 
young  man  can  acquire  it !  " 

Alcor  then  gave  place  to  an  angel  of  the  philo- 
sophic order,  who  mounted  the  rostrum  and  spoke 
thus: 

"  War  never  was  an  exact  science,  a  clearly 
defined  art.  The  genius  of  the  race,  or  the  brain 
of  the  individual  has  ever  modified  it.  Now  how 
are  we  to  define  the  qualities  necessary  for  a  general  in 
command  in  the  war  of  the  future,  where  one  must 
consider  greater  masses  and  a  larger  number  of  move- 
ments than  the  intelligence  of  man  can  conceive  ? 
The  multiplication  of  technical  means,  by  infinitely 
multiplying  the  opportunities  for  mistake,  paralyses 
the  genius  of  those  in  command.  At  a  certain 
stage  in  the  progress  of  military  science,  a  stage 
which  our  models,  the  Europeans,  are  about  to 


256    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

reach,  the  cleverest  leader  and  the  most  ignorant 
become  equalized  by  reason  of  their  incapacity. 
Another  result  of  great  modern  armaments  is, 
that  the  law  of  numbers  tends  to  rule  with 
inflexible  rigour.  It  is  of  course  true  that  ten 
angels  in  revolt  are  worth  more  than  ten  angels 
of  laldabaoth  ;  it  is  not  at  all  certain  that  a 
million  rebellious  angels  are  worth  more  than  a 
million  of  laldabaoth's  angels.  Great  numbers, 
in  war  as  elsewhere,  annihilate  intelligence  and 
individual  superiority  in  favour  of  a  sort  of  ex- 
ceedingly rudimentary  collective  soul." 

A  buzz  of  conversation  drowned  the  voice  of 
the  philosophic  angel,  and  he  concluded  his  speech 
in  an  atmosphere  of  general  indifference. 

The  tribune  then  resounded  with  calls  to  arms 
and  promises  of  victory.  The  sword  was  held  up 
to  praise,  the  sword  which  defends  the  right. 
The  triumph  of  the  angels  in  revolt  was  celebrated 
twenty  times  beforehand,  to  the  plaudits  of  a 
delirious  crowd. 

Cries  of  "  War  !  "  rose  to  the  silent  heavens ; 
"  Give  us  war  !  " 

In  the  midst  of  these  transports  Prince  Istar 
hoisted  himself  on  to  the  platform,  and  the  floor 
creaked  under  his  weight. 

"  Comrades,"  said  he,  "  you  wish  for  victory, 
and  it  is  a  very  natural  desire,  but  you  must  be 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    257 

mouldy  with  literature  and  poetry  if  you  expect 
to  obtain  it  from  war.  The  idea  of  making  war 
can  nowadays  only  enter  the  brain  of  a  sottish 
bourgeois  or  a  belated  romantic.  What  is  war  ? 
A  burlesque  masquerade  in  the  midst  of  which 
fatuous  patriots  sing  their  stupid  dithyrambs.  Had 
Napoleon  possessed  a  practical  mind  he  would  not 
have  made  war  ;  but  he  was  a  dreamer,  intoxicated 
with  Ossian.  You  cry,  *  Give  us  war  ! '  You  are 
visionaries.  When  will  you  become  thinkers  ? 
The  thinkers  do  not  look  for  power  and  strength 
from  any  of  the  dreams  which  constitute  military 
art :  tactics,  strategy,  fortifications,  artillery  and 
all  that  rubbish.  They  do  not  believe  in  war, 
which  is  a  phantasy  ;  they  believe  in  chemistry, 
which  is  a  science.  They  know  the  way  to  put 
victory  into  an  algebraic  formula." 

And  drawing  from  his  pocket  a  small  bottle, 
which  he  held  up  to  the  meeting,  Prince  Istar 
exclaimed : 

"  Victory — it  is  here  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

WHEREIN  WE  SHALL  SEE  REVEALED  A  DARK  AND  SECRET 
MYSTERY  AND  LEARN  HOW  IT  COMES  ABOUT  THAT 
EMPIRES  ARE  OFTEN  HURLED  AGAINST  EMPIRES,  AND 
RUIN  FALLS  ALIKE  UPON  THE  VICTORS  AND  THE 
VANQUISHED;  AND  THE  WISE  READER  (IF  SUCH  THERE 
BE — WHICH  I  DOUBT)  WILL  MEDITATE  UPON  THIS 
IMPORTANT  UTTERANCE  I  "  A  WAR  IS  A  MATTER  OF 
BUSINESS." 


HE  Angels  had  dispersed.  At  the  foot 
of  the  slopes  at  Meudon,  seated  on 
the  grass,  Arcade  and  Zita  watched 
the  Seine  flowing  by  the  willows. 

"  In  this  world,"  said  Arcade,  "  in 
this  world,  which  we  call  a  cosmos,  though  it 
is  but  a  microcosm,  no  thinking  being  can  imagine 
that  he  is  able  to  destroy  even  one  atom.  At  the 
utmost,  all  we  can  hope  for  is  that  we  shall 
succeed  in  modifying,  here  and  there,  the  rhythm 
of  some  group  of  atoms  and  the  arrangement  of 
certain  cells.  That,  when  one  thinks  of  it,  must  be 
the  limit  of  our  great  enterprise.  And  when  we 
shall  have  set  up  the  Contradictor  in  the  place  of 

laldabaoth,  we  shall  have  done  no  more.  .  .  .  Zita, 

258 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    259 

is  the  evil  in  the  nature  of  things  or  in  their  arrange- 
ment ?  That  is  what  we  ought  to  know.  Zita,  I 
am  profoundly  troubled " 

"  Arcade,"  replied  Zita,  "  if  to  act  we  had  to 
know  the  secret  of  Nature,  one  would  never  act  at 
all.  And  neither  would  one  live — since  to  live  is 
to  act.  Arcade,  is  your  resolution  failing  you 
already  ?  " 

Arcade  assured  the  beautiful  angel  that  he  was 
resolved  to  plunge  the  demiurge  into  eternal  dark- 
ness. 

A  motor-car  passed  by  on  the  road,  followed  by 
a  long  trail  of  dust.  It  stopped  before  the  two 
angels,  and  the  hooked  nose  of  Baron  Everdingen 
appeared  at  the  window. 

"  Good  morning,  my  celestial  friends,  good 
morning,"  said  the  capitalist.  "  Sons  of  Heaven, 
I  am  pleased  to  meet  you.  I  have  a  word  of  im- 
portance to  say  to  you.  Do  not  remain  idle — do 
not  go  to  sleep.  Arm  !  Arm  !  You  may  be  sur- 
prised by  laldabaoth.  You  have  a  big  war-fund. 
Employ  it  without  stint.  I  have  just  learnt  that 
the  Archangel  Michael  has  given  large  orders  in 
Heaven  for  thunder-bolts  and  arrows.  If  you  take 
my  advice  you  will  procure  fifty  thousand  more 
electrophores.  I  will  take  the  order.  Good  day, 
angels.  Long  live  the  celestial  country  !  " 

And    Baron    Everdingen    flew    by    the    flowery 


260    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

shores  of  Louveciennes  in  the  company  of  a  pretty 
actress. 

"  Is  it  true  that  they  are  taking  up  arms  at  the 
demiurge's  ?  "  asked  Arcade. 

"  It  may  be,"  replied  Zita,  "  that  up  there 
another  Baron  Everdingen  is  inciting  to  arms." 

The  guardian  angel  of  young  Maurice  remained 
pensive  for  some  moments.  Then  he  murmured: 

"  Can  it  be  that  we  are  the  sport  of  financiers  ? " 

"  Pooh  !  "  said  the  beautiful  archangel.  "  War 
is  a  business.  It  has  always  been  a  business." 

Then  they  discussed  at  length  the  means  of 
executing  their  immense  enterprise.  Rejecting 
disdainfully  the  anarchistic  proceedings  of  Prince 
Istar,  they  conceived  a  formidable  and  sudden 
invasion  of  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  by  their  en- 
thusiastic and  well-drilled  troops. 

Now  Barattan,  the  innkeeper  of  la  Jonchere,  who 
had  let  the  entertainment  hall  to  the  rebellious 
angels,  was  in  the  employ  of  the  secret  police.  In 
the  reports  he  furnished  to  the  Prefecture  he 
denounced  the  members  of  this  secret  meeting  as 
meditating  an  attack  on  a  certain  person  whom 
they  described  as  obtuse  and  cruel,  and  whom  they 
called  Alaballotte.  The  agent  believed  this  to  be 
a  pseudonym  denoting  either  the  President  of  the 
Republic  or  the  Republic  itself.  The  conspirators 
had  unanimously  given  voice  to  threats  against 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    261 

Alaballotte,  and  one  of  them,  a  very  dangerous 
individual,  well-known  in  anarchist  circles,  who 
had  already  several  convictions  against  him  on 
account  of  writings  and  speeches  of  a  seditious 
nature,  and  who  was  known  as  Prince  Istar  or  the 
Queroube,  had  brandished  a  bomb  of  very  small 
calibre  which  seemed  to  contain  a  formidable 
machine.  The  other  conspirators  were  unknown 
to  Barattan,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he 
frequented  revolutionary  circles.  Many  among 
them  were  very  young  men,  mere  beardless  youths. 
There  were  two  who,  it  appeared,  had  spoken 
with  conspicuous  vehemence  ;  a  certain  Arcade, 
dwelling  in  the  Rue  St.  Jacques,  and  a  woman  of 
easy  virtue  called  Zita,  living  at  Montmartre,  both 
without  visible  means  of  subsistence. 

The  affair  seemed  sufficiently  serious  to  the 
Prefect  of  Police  to  make  him  think  it  necessary 
to  confer  without  delay  with  the  President  of  the 
Council. 

The  Third  Republic  was  then  going  through 
one  of  those  climacteric  periods  during  which  the 
French  nation,  enamoured  of  authority  and  wor- 
shipping force,  gave  itself  up  for  lost  because  it 
was  not  governed  enough,  and  clamoured  loudly 
for  a  saviour.  The  President  of  the  Council,  and 
Minister  of  Justice,  was  only  too  eager  to  be  that 
longed-for  saviour.  Still,  for  him  to  play  that 


262    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

part  it  was  first  necessary  that  there  should  be  a 
danger  to  face.  Thus  the  news  of  a  plot  was 
highly  welcome  to  him.  He  questioned  the  Prefect 
of  Police  on  the  character  and  importance  of  the 
affair.  The  Prefect  of  Police  explained  that  the 
people  seemed  to  have  money,  intelligence  and 
energy ;  but  that  they  talked  too  much  and  were 
too  numerous  to  undertake  secret  and  concerted 
action.  The  Minister,  leaning  back  in  his  arm- 
chair, pondered  on  the  matter.  The  Empire 
writing-table  at  which  he  was  seated,  the  ancient 
tapestry  which  covered  the  walls,  the  clock  and 
the  candelabra  of  the  Restoration  period — all,  in 
this  traditional  setting,  reminded  him  of  those 
great  principles  of  government  which  remain 
immutable  throughout  the  succession  of  regimes, 
of  stratagem  and  of  bluff.  After  brief  reflexion, 
he  concluded  that  the  plot  must  be  allowed  to 
grow  and  take  shape,  that  it  would  even  be  fitting 
to  nurse  it,  to  embroider  it,  to  colour  it,  and  only 
to  stifle  it  after  having  extracted  every  possible 
advantage  from  it. 

He  instructed  the  Prefect  of  Police  to  watch  the 
affair  closely,  to  render  him  an  account  of  what 
went  on  from  day  to  day,  and  to  confine  himself 
to  the  role  of  informer. 

"  I  rely  on  your  well-known  prudence  ;  observe, 
and  do  not  intervene." 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    263 

The  Minister  lit  a  cigarette.  He  quite  reckoned, 
with  the  help  of  this  plot,  on  silencing  the  Oppo- 
sition, strengthening  his  own  influence,  diminishing 
that  of  his  colleagues,  humiliating  the  President  of 
the  Republic,  and  becoming  the  saviour  of  his 
country. 

The  Prefect  of  Police  undertook  to  follow  the 
ministerial  instructions,  vowing  inwardly  all  the 
while  to  act  in  his  own  way.  He  had  a  watch  put 
upon  the  individuals  pointed  out  by  Barattan,  and 
commanded  his  agents  not  to  intervene  come  what 
might.  Perceiving  that  he  was  a  marked  man, 
Prince  Istar — who  united  prudence  with  strength — 
withdrew  the  bombs  from  the  gutter  outside  his 
window  where  he  had  hidden  them,  and  changing 
from  motor  'bus  to  tube,  from  tube  to  motor  'bus, 
and  choosing  the  most  cunningly  circuitous  route, 
at  length  deposited  his  machines  with  the  angelic 
musician. 

Every  time  he  left  his  house  in  the  Rue  St. 
Jacques,  Arcade  found  a  man  of  exaggerated 
smartness  at  his  door,  with  yellow  gloves  and 
in  his  tie  a  diamond  bigger  than  the  Regent. 
Being  a  stranger  to  the  things  of  this  world,  the 
rebellious  angel  paid  no  attention  to  the  circum- 
stance. But  young  Maurice  d'Esparvieu,  who  had 
undertaken  the  task  of  guarding  his  guardian-angel, 
viewed  this  gentleman  with  uneasiness,  for  he 


264    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

equalled  in  assiduity  and  surpassed  in  vigilance  that 
Monsieur  Mignon  who  had  formerly  allowed  his 
inquisitive  gaze  to  wander  from  the  rams'  heads  on 
the  Hotel  de  la  Sordiere  in  the  Rue  Garanciere  to 
the  apse  of  the  church  of  St.  Sulpice.  Maurice 
came  two  and  three  times  a  day  to  see  Arcade  in  his 
furnished  rooms,  warning  him  of  the  danger,  and 
urging  him  to  change  his  abode. 

Every  evening  he  took  his  angel  to  night 
restaurants,  where  they  supped  with  ladies  of  easy 
virtue.  There  young  d'Esparvieu  would  foretell 
the  issue  of  some  coming  glove-fight,  and  after- 
wards exert  himself  to  demonstrate  to  Arcade  the 
existence  of  God,  the  necessity  for  religion,  and 
the  beauties  of  Christianity,  and  adjure  him  to 
renounce  his  impious  and  criminal  undertakings 
wherefrom,  he  said,  he  would  reap  but  bitterness 
and  disappointment. 

"  For  really,"  said  the  young  apologist,  "  if 
Christianity  were  false  it  would  be  known." 

The  ladies  approved  of  Maurice's  religious 
sentiments,  and  when  the  handsome  Arcade  uttered 
some  blasphemy  in  language  they  could  understand, 
they  put  their  hands  to  their  ears  and  bade  him  be 
silent,  for  fear  of  being  struck  down  with  him. 
For  they  believed  that  God,  in  his  omnipotence 
and  sovereign  goodness,  taking  sudden  vengeance 
against  those  who  insulted  him,  was  quite  capable 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    265 

of  striking  down  the  innocent  with  the  guilty 
without  meaning  it. 

Sometimes  the  angel  and  his  guardian  took  supper 
with  the  angelic  musician.  Maurice,  who  re- 
membered from  time  to  time  that  he  was 
Bouchotte's  lover,  was  displeased  to  see  Arcade 
taking  liberties  with  the  singer.  She  had  allowed 
him  to  do  so  ever  since  the  day  when,  the  angelic 
musician  having  had  the  little  flowery  couch  re- 
paired, Arcade  and  Bouchotte  had  made  it  a 
foundation  for  their  friendship.  Maurice,  who 
loved  Madame  des  Aubels  a  great  deal,  also  loved 
Bouchotte  a  little,  and  was  rather  jealous  of  Arcade. 
Now  jealousy  is  a  feeling  natural  to  man  and  beast, 
and  causes  them,  however  slight  the  attack,  keen 
unhappiness.  Therefore,  suspecting  the  truth, 
which  Bouchotte's  temperament  and  the  angel's 
character  made  sufficiently  obvious,  he  overwhelmed 
Arcade  with  sarcasm  and  abuse,  reproaching  him 
with  the  immorality  of  his  ways.  Arcade  answered 
tranquilly  that  it  was  difficult  to  subject  physio- 
logical impulses  to  perfectly  defined  rules,  and  that 
moralists  encountered  great  difficulties  in  the  case 
of  certain  natural  necessities. 

"  Moreover,"  added  Arcade,  "  I  freely  acknow- 
ledge that  it  is  almost  impossible  systematically  to 
constitute  a  natural  moral  law.  Nature  has  no 
principles.  She  furnishes  us  with  no  reason  to 


266    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

believe  that  human  life  is  to  be  respected.  Nature, 
in  her  indifference,  makes  no  distinction  between 
good  and  evil." 

"  You  see,  then,"  replied  Maurice,  "  that  religion 
is  necessary." 

"  Moral  law,"  replied  the  angel,  "  which  is 
supposed  to  be  revealed  to  us,  is  drawn  in  reality 
from  the  grossest  empiricism.  Custom  alone 
regulates  morals.  What  Heaven  prescribes  is 
merely  the  consecration  of  ancient  customs.  The 
divine  law,  promulgated  amid  fireworks  on  some 
Mount  Sinai,  is  never  anything  but  the  codification 
of  human  prejudice.  And  from  this  fact — namely, 
that  morals  change — religions  which  endure  for  a 
long  time,  such  as  Judseo-Christianity,  vary  their 
moral  law." 

"  At  any  rate,"  said  Maurice,  whose  intelligence 
was  swelling  visibly,  "  you  will  grant  me  that 
religion  prevents  much  profligacy  and  crime  ?  " 

"  Except  when  it  promotes  crime — as,  for  in- 
stance, the  murder  of  Iphigenia." 

"Arcade,"  exclaimed  Maurice,  "when  I  hear  you 
argue,  I  rejoice  that  I  am  not  an  intellectual." 

Meanwhile  Theophile,  with  his  head  bent  over 
the  piano,  his  face  hidden  by  the  long  fair  veil  of 
his  hair,  bringing  down  from  on  high  his  inspired 
hands  on  to  the  keys,  was  playing  and  singing  the 
full  score  of  Aline,  Queen  of  Golconda. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    267 

Prince  Istar  used  to  come  to  their  friendly 
reunions,  his  pockets  filled  with  bombs  and  bottles 
of  champagne,  both  of  which  he  owed  to  the 
liberality  of  Baron  Everdingen.  Bouchotte  received 
the  Kerub  with  pleasure,  since  she  saw  in  him  the 
witness  and  the  trophy  of  the  victory  she  had 
gained  on  the  little  flowered  couch.  He  was  to  her 
as  the  severed  head  of  Goliath  in  the  hands  of  the 
youthful  David.  And  she  admired  the  prince  for 
his  cleverness  as  an  accompanist,  his  vigour,  which 
she  had  subdued,  and  his  prodigious  capacity  for 
drink. 

One  night,  when  young  d'Esparvieu  took  his 
angel  home  in  his  car  from  Bouchotte's  house  to 
the  lodgings  in  the  Rue  St.  Jacques,  it  was  very 
dark ;  before  the  door  the  diamond  in  the  spy's 
necktie  glittered  like  a  beacon ;  three  cyclists 
standing  in  a  group  under  its  rays  made  off  in 
divers  directions  at  the  car's  approach.  The  angel 
took  no  notice,  but  Maurice  concluded  that 
Arcade's  movements  interested  various  important 
people  in  the  State.  He  judged  the  danger  to  be 
pressing  and  at  once  made  up  his  mind. 

The  next  morning  he  came  to  seek  the  suspect  to 
take  him  to  the  Rue  de  Rome.  The  angel  was  in 
bed.  Maurice  urged  him  to  dress  and  to  follow 
him. 

"  Come,"  said  he.    "  This  house  is  no  longer  safe 


268    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

for  you.  You  are  watched.  One  of  these  days  you 
will  be  arrested.  Do  you  wish  to  sleep  in  gaol  ?  No  ? 
Well,  then,  come.  I  will  put  you  in  a  safe  place." 

The  spirit  smiled  with  some  little  compassion  on 
his  naive  preserver. 

"  Do  you  not  know,"  he  said,  "  that  an  angel 
broke  open  the  doors  of  the  prison  where  Peter 
was  confined,  and  delivered  the  apostle  ?  Do  you 
believe  me,  Maurice,  to  be  inferior  in  power  to 
that  heavenly  brother  of  mine,  and  do  you  suppose 
that  I  am  unable  to  do  for  myself  what  he  did  for 
the  fisherman  of  the  lake  of  Tiberias  ?  " 

"  Do  not  count  on  it,  Arcade.  He  did  it 
miraculously." 

**  Or  by  a  stroke  of  luck,  as  a  modern  historian  of 
the  Church  has  it.  But  no  matter.  I  will  follow 
you.  Just  allow  me  to  burn  a  few  letters  and  to 
make  a  parcel  of  some  books  I  shall  need." 

He  threw  some  papers  in  the  fire-place,  put 
several  volumes  in  his  pockets,  and  followed  his 
guide  to  the  car  which  was  waiting  for  them  not 
far  off,  outside  the  College  of  France.  Maurice 
took  the  wheel.  Imitating  the  Kerub's  prudence, 
he  made  so  many  windings  and  turnings,  and  so 
many  rapid  twists  that  he  put  all  the  swift  and 
numerous  cyclists,  speeding  in  pursuit,  off  the 
scent.  At  length,  having  left  wheelmarks  in  every 
direction  all  over  the  town,  he  stopped  in  the 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    269 

Rue  de  Rome  before  the  first-floor  flat  where  the 
angel  had  first  appeared. 

On  entering  the  dwelling  which  he  had  left 
eighteen  months  before  to  carry  out  his  mission, 
Arcade  remembered  the  irreparable  past,  and 
breathing  in  the  scent  used  by  Gilberte,  his  nostrils 
throbbed.  He  asked  after  Madame  des  Aubels. 

"  She  is  very  well,"  replied  Maurice.  "  A  little 
plumper  and  very  much  more  beautiful  for  it. 
She  still  bears  you  a  grudge  for  your  forward 
behaviour.  I  hope  that  she  will  one  day  forgive 
you,  as  I  have  forgiven  you,  and  that  she  will 
forget  your  offence.  But  she  is  still  very  annoyed 
with  you." 

Young  d'Esparvieu  did  the  honours  of  his  flat  to 
his  angel  with  the  manners  of  a  well-bred  man  and 
the  tender  solicitude  of  a  friend.  He  showed  him 
the  folding  bed  which  was  opened  every  evening 
in  the  entrance  hall  and  pushed  into  a  dark  cupboard 
in  the  morning.  He  showed  him  the  dressing-table, 
with  its  accessories ;  the  bath,  the  linen  cupboard, 
the  chest  of  drawers ;  gave  him  the  necessary 
information  regarding  the  heating  and  lighting  ; 
told  him  that  his  meals  would  be  brought  and  the 
rooms  cleaned  by  the  concierge,  and  showed  him 
which  bell  to  press  when  he  required  that  person's 
services.  He  told  him  also  that  he  must  consider 
himself  at  home,  and  receive  whom  he  wished. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

WHICH  TREATS   OF  A  PAINFUL  DOMESTIC  SCENE 

O  long  as  Maurice  confined  his 
selection  of  mistresses  to  respect- 
able women,  his  conduct  had  called 
forth  no  reproach.  It  was  a  differ- 
ent matter  when  he  took  up  with 
Bouchotte.  His  mother,  who  had  closed  her  eyes 
to  liaisons  which,  though  guilty,  were  elegant  and 
discreet,  was  scandalised  when  it  came  to  her 
ears  that  her  son  was  openly  parading  about  with 
a  music-hall  singer.  By  dint  of  much  prying  and 
probing,  Berthe,  Maurice's  younger  sister,  had  got 
to  know  of  her  brother's  adventures,  and  she 
narrated  them,  without  any  indignation,  to  her 
young  girl  friends.  His  little  brother  Leon  declared 
to  his  mother  one  day,  in  the  presence  of  several 
ladies,  that  when  he  was  big  he,  too,  would  go  on 
the  spree,  like  Maurice.  This  was  a  sore  wound  to 
the  maternal  heart  of  Madame  d'Esparvieu. 

About  the  same  time  there  occurred  a  family 
event  of  a  very  grave  nature  which  occasioned  much 

270 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     271 

alarm  to  Monsieur  Rene  d'Esparvieu.  Drafts  were 
presented  to  him  signed  in  his  name  by  his  son. 
His  writing  had  not  been  forged,  but  there  was  no 
doubt  that  it  had  been  the  son's  intention  to  pass 
off  the  signature  as  his  father's.  It  showed  a 
perverted  moral  sense ;  whence  it  appeared  that 
Maurice  was  living  a  life  of  profligacy,  that  he  was 
running  into  debt  and  on  the  point  of  outraging  the 
decencies.  The  paterfamilias  talked  the  matter  over 
with  his  wife.  It  was  arranged  that  he  should  give 
his  son  a  very  severe  lecture,  hint  at  vigorous 
corrective  measures,  and  that  in  due  course  the 
mother  should  appear  with  gentle  and  sorrowing 
mien  and  endeavour  to  soothe  the  righteous 
indignation  of  the  father.  This  plan  being  agreed 
upon,  Monsieur  Rene  d'Esparvieu  sent  for  his  son 
to  come  to  him  in  his  study.  To  add  to  the 
solemnity  of  the  occasion,  he  had  arrayed  himself 
in  his  frock-coat.  As  soon  as  Maurice  saw  it  he 
knew  there  was  something  serious  in  the  wind. 
The  head  of  the  family  was  pale,  and  his  voice 
shook  a  little  (for  he  was  a  nervous  man),  as  he 
declared  that  he  would  no  longer  put  up  with  his 
son's  irregular  behaviour,  and  insisted  on  an  im- 
mediate and  absolute  reform.  No  more  wild 
courses,  no  more  running  into  debt,  no  more 
undesirable  companions,  but  work,  steadiness  and 
reputable  connexions. 


272    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

Maurice  was  quite  willing  to  give  a  respectful 
reply  to  his  father,  whose  complaints,  after  all, 
were  perfectly  justified ;  but,  unfortunately, 
Maurice,  like  his  father,  was  shy,  and  the  frock-coat 
which  Monsieur  d'Esparvieu  had  donned  in  order 
to  discharge  his  magisterial  duty  with  greater 
dignity  seemed  to  preclude  the  possibility  of  any 
open  and  unconstrained  intercourse.  Maurice 
maintained  an  awkward  silence,  which  looked  very 
much  like  insolence,  and  this  silence  compelled 
Monsieur  d'Esparvieu  to  reiterate  his  complaints, 
this  time  with  additional  severity.  He  opened  one 
of  the  drawers  in  his  historic  bureau  (the  bureau 
on  which  Alexandre  d'Esparvieu  had  written  his 
"  Essay  on  the  Civil  and  Religious  Institutions  of 
the  World  "),  and  produced  the  bills  which  Maurice 
had  pigned. 

"  Do  you  know,  my  boy,"  said  he,  "  that  this  is 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  forgery  ?  To  make  up 
for  such  grave  misconduct  as  that " 

At  this  moment  Madame  d'Esparvieu,  as 
arranged,  entered  the  room  attired  in  her  walking- 
dress.  She  was  supposed  to  play  the  angel  of 
forgiveness,  but  neither  her  appearance  nor  her 
disposition  was  suitable  to  the  part.  She  was 
harsh  and  unsympathetic.  Maurice  harboured  with- 
in him  the  seeds  of  all  the  ordinary  and  necessary 
virtues.  He  loved  his  mother  and  respected 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS  273 

her.  His  love,  however,  was  more  a  matter  of 
duty  than  of  inclination,  and  his  respect  arose 
from  habit  rather  than  from  feeling.  Madame 
Rene  d'Esparvieu's  complexion  was  blotchy,  and, 
having  powdered  herself  in  order  to  appear  to 
advantage  at  the  domestic  tribunal,  the  colour  of 
her  face  suggested  raspberries  sprinkled  over  with 
sugar.  Maurice,  being  possessed  of  some  taste, 
could  not  help  realising  that  she  was  ugly  and  rather 
repulsively  so.  He  was  out  of  tune  with  her,  and 
when  she  began  to  go  through  all  the  accusations 
his  father  had  brought  against  him,  making  them 
out  to  be  blacker  than  ever,  the  prodigal  turned 
away  his  head  to  conceal  his  irritation. 

"  Your  Aunt  de  Saint-Fain,"  she  went  on,  "  met 
you  in  the  street  in  such  disgraceful  company  that 
she  was  really  thankful  that  you  forbore  to  greet 
her." 

"  Aunt  de  Saint-Fain ! "  Maurice  broke  out. 
"  I  like  to  hear  her  talking  about  scandals !  Every- 
one knows  the  sort  of  life  she  has  led,  and  now  the 
old  hypocrite  wants  to " 

He  stopped.  He  had  caught  sight  of  his  father, 
whose  face  was  even  more  eloquent  of  sorrow  than 
of  anger.  Maurice  began  to  feel  as  though  he  had 
committed  murder,  and  could  not  imagine  how  he 
had  allowed  such  words  to  escape  him.  He  was  on 
the  point  of  bursting  into  tears,  falling  on  his 


274   THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

knees,  and  imploring  his  father  to  forgive  him, 
when  his  mother,  looking  up  at  the  ceiling,  said 
with  a  sigh : 

"  What  offence  can  I  have  committed  against 
God,  to  have  brought  such  a  wicked  son  into  the 
world  ?  " 

This  speech  struck  Maurice  as  a  piece  of  ridiculous 
affectation,  and  it  pulled  him  up  with  a  jerk.  The 
bitterness  of  contrition  suddenly  gave  place  to  the 
delicious  arrogance  of  wrong-doing.  He  plunged 
wildly  into  a  torrent  of  insolence  and  revolt,  and 
breathlessly  delivered  himself  of  utterances  quite 
unfit  for  a  mother's  ear. 

"  If  you  will  have  it,  mamma,  rather  than 
forbid  me  to  continue  my  friendship  with  a 
talented  lyrical  artist,  you  would  be  better  em- 
ployed in  preventing  my  elder  sister,  Madame  de 
Margy,  from  appearing,  night  after  night,  in 
society  and  at  the  theatres  with  a  contemptible 
and  disgusting  individual  that  everybody  knows 
is  her  lover.  You  should  also  keep  an  eye  on  my 
little  sister  Jeanne,  who  writes  objectionable  letters 
to  herself  in  a  disguised  hand,  and  then,  pre- 
tending she  has  found  them  in  her  prayer-book, 
shows  them  to  you  with  assumed  innocence, 
to  worry  and  alarm  you.  It  would  be  just  as 
well,  too,  if  you  prevented  my  little  brother 
Leon,  a  child  of  seven,  from  being  quite  so  much 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    275 

with    Mademoiselle   Caporal,   and  you   might  tell 
your  maid  .  .  ." 

"  Get  out,  sir,  I  will  not  have  you  in  the  house  !  " 
cried  Monsieur  Rene  d'Esparvieu,  white  with 
anger,  pointing  a  trembling  finger  at  the  door. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


WHEREIN  WE  SEE  HOW  THE  ANGEL,  HAVING  BE- 
COME A  MAN,  BEHAVES  LIKE  A  MAN,  COVETING 
ANOTHER'S  WIFE  AND  BETRAYING  HIS  FRIEND. 
IN  THIS  CHAPTER  THE  CORRECTNESS  OF  YOUNG 
D'ESPARVIEU'S  CONDUCT  WILL  BE  MADE  MANIFEST 


HE  angel  was  pleased  with  his  lodg- 
ing. He  worked  of  a  morning, 
went  out  in  the  afternoon,  heedless 
of  detectives,  and  came  home  to 
sleep.  As  in  days  gone  by,  Maurice 
received  Madame  des  Aubels  twice  or  thrice  a 
week  in  the  room  in  which  they  had  seen  the 
apparition. 

All  went  very  well  until  one  morning  Gilberte, 
having,  the  night  before,  left  her  little  velvet  bag 
on  the  table  in  the  blue  room,  came  to  find  it,  and 
discovered  Arcade  stretched  on  the  couch  in  his 
pyjamas,  smoking  a  cigarette,  and  dreaming  of  the 
conquest  of  Heaven.  She  gave  a  loud  scream. 

"  You,  Monsieur  !  Had  I  thought  to  find  you 
here,  you  may  be  quite  sure  I  should  not  ...  I 
came  to  fetch  my  little  bag,  which  is  in  the  next 

276 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    277 

room.  Allow  me.  .  .  ."  And  she  slipped  past  the 
angel,  cautiously  and  quickly,  as  if  he  were  a  brazier. 

Madame  des  Aubels  that  morning,  in  her  pale 
green  tailor-made  costume,  was  deliciously  attractive. 
Her  tight  skirt  displayed  her  movements,  and  her 
every  step  was  one  of  those  miracles  of  Nature 
which  fill  men's  hearts  with  amazement. 

She  reappeared,  bag  in  hand. 

"  Once  more — I  ask  your  pardon.  ...  I  never 
dreamt  that  .  .  ." 

Arcade  begged  her  to  sit  down  and  to  stay  a 
moment. 

"  I  never  expected,  Monsieur,"  said  she,  "  that 
you  would  be  doing  the  honours  of  this  flat.  I  knew 
how  dearly  Monsieur  d'Esparvieu  loved  you.  .  .  . 
Nevertheless,  I  had  no  idea  that  .  .  ." 

The  sky  had  suddenly  grown  overcast.  A  brownish 
glare  began  to  steal  into  the  room.  Madame  des 
Aubels  told  him  she  had  walked  for  her  health's 
sake,  but  a  storm  was  brewing,  and  she  asked  if  a 
carriage  could  be  called  for  her. 

Arcade  flung  himself  at  Gilberte's  feet,  took  her 
in  his  arms  as  one  takes  a  precious  piece  of  china, 
and  murmured  words  which,  being  meaningless  in 
themselves,  expressed  desire. 

She  put  her  hands  over  his  eyes  and  on  his  lips, 
and  exclaimed,  "  I  hate  you  !  " 

And  shaking  with  sobs,  she  asked  for  a  drink  of 


278     THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

water.  She  was  choking.  The  angel  went  to  her 
assistance.  In  this  moment  of  extreme  peril  she 
defended  herself  courageously.  She  kept  saying : 
"  No !  .  .  .  No !  .  .  .  I  will  not  love  you.  I  should 
love  you  too  well.  .  .  ."  Nevertheless  she  suc- 
cumbed. 

In  the  sweet  familiarity  which  followed  their 
mutual  astonishment  she  said  to  him : 

"  I  have  often  asked  after  you.  I  knew  that  you 
were  an  assiduous  frequenter  of  the  playhouses  at 
Montmartre, — that  you  were  often  seen  with 
Mademoiselle  Bouchotte,  who,  nevertheless,  is  not 
at  all  pretty.  I  knew  that  you  had  become  very 
smart,  and  that  you  were  making  a  good  deal  of 
money.  I  was  not  surprised.  You  were  born  to 
succeed.  The  day  of  your " — and  she  pointed 
at  the  spot  between  the  window  and  the  wardrobe 
with  the  mirror — "  apparition,  I  was  vexed  with 
Maurice  for  having  given  you  a  suicide's  rags  to 
wear.  You  pleased  me.  .  .  .  Oh,  it  was  not  your 
good  looks  !  Don't  think  that  women  are  as 
sensitive  as  people  say  to  outward  attractions.  We 

consider  other  things  in  love.  There  is  a  sort  of 

Well,  anyhow  I  loved  you  as  soon  as  I  saw  you." 

The  shadows  grew  deeper. 

She  asked : 

"  You  are  not  an  angel,  are  you  ?  Maurice 
believes  you  are;  but  he  believes  so  many  things, 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    279 

Maurice."  She  questioned  Arcade  with  her  eyes 
and  smiled  maliciously.  "  Confess  that  you  have 
been  fooling  him,  and  that  you  are  no  angel  ?  " 

Arcade  replied : 

"  I  only  aspire  to  please  you  ;  I  will  always  be 
what  you  want  me  to  be." 

Gilberte  decided  that  he  was  no  angel ;  first, 
because  one  never  is  an  angel ;  secondly,  for  more 
detailed  reasons  which  drew  her  thoughts  to  the 
question  of  love.  He  did  not  argue  the  matter 
with  her,  and  once  again  words  were  found  in- 
adequate to  express  their  feelings. 

Outside,  the  rain  was  falling  thick  and  fast,  the 
windows  were  streaming,  lightning  lit  up  the 
muslin  curtains,  and  thunder  shook  the  panes. 
Gilberte  made  the  sign  of  the  Cross  and  remained 
with  her  head  hidden  in  her  lover's  bosom. 

At  this  moment  Maurice  entered  the  room.  He 
came  in  wet  and  smiling,  confident,  tranquil,  happy, 
to  announce  to  Arcade  the  good  news  that  with 
his  half-share  in  the  previous  day's  race  at  Long- 
champs  the  angel  had  won  twelve  times  his  stake. 
Surprising  the  lady  and  the  angel  in  their  em- 
brace, he  became  furious ;  anger  gripped  the  muscles 
of  his  throat,  his  face  grew  red  with  blood  and 
the  veins  stood  out  on  his  forehead.  He  sprang 
with  clenched  fists  towards  Gilberte,  and  then 
suddenly  stopped. 


280    THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

Interrupted  motion  was  transformed  into  heat. 
Maurice  fumed.  His  anger  did  not  arm  him,  like 
Archilochus,  with  lyrical  vengeance.  He  merely 
applied  an  offensive  epithet  to  his  unfaithful 
one. 

Meanwhile  she  had  recovered  her  dignified  bear- 
ing. She  rose,  full  of  modesty  and  grace,  and  gave 
her  accuser  a  look  which  expressed  both  offended 
virtue  and  loving  forgiveness. 

But  as  young  d'Esparvieu  continued  to  shower 
coarse  and  monotonous  insults  on  her,  she  grew 
angry  in  her  turn. 

"  You  are  a  pretty  sort  of  person,  are  you  not  ?  " 
she  said.  "  Did  I  run  after  this  Arcade  of  yours  ? 
It  was  you  who  brought  him  here,  and  in  what  a 
state,  too  !  You  had  only  one  idea  :  to  give  me  up 
to  your  friend.  Well,  Monsieur,  you  can  do  as  you 
like — I  am  not  going  to  oblige  you." 

Maurice  d'Esparvieu  replied  simply,  "  Get  out 
of  it,  you  trollop  !  "  And  he  made  a  motion  as  if  to 
push  her  out.  It  pained  Arcade  to  see  his  mistress 
treated  so  disrespectfully,  but  he  thought  he  lacked 
the  necessary  authority  to  interfere  with  Maurice. 
Madame  des  Aubels,  who  had  lost  none  of  her 
dignity,  fixed  young  d'Esparvieu  with  her  imperious 
gaze,  and  said : 

"  Go  and  get  me  a  carriage." 

And  so  great  is  the  power  of  woman  over  a  well- 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    281 

bred  soul,  in  a  gallant  nation,  that  the  young 
Frenchman  went  immediately  and  told  the  con- 
cierge to  call  a  taxi.  Madame  des  Aubels,  with  a 
studied  exhibition  of  charm  in  every  movement, 
took  leave  of  them,  throwing  Maurice  the  con- 
temptuous look  that  a  woman  owes  to  him  whom 
she  has  deceived.  Maurice  witnessed  her  departure 
with  an  outward  expression  of  indifference  he  was 
far  from  feeling.  Then  he  turned  to  the  angel  clad 
in  the  flowered  pyjamas  which  Maurice  himself  had 
worn  the  day  of  the  apparition ;  and  this  circum- 
stance, trifling  in  itself,  added  fuel  to  the  anger 
of  the  host  who  had  been  thus  shamefully  de- 
ceived. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  you  may  pride  yourself  on 
being  a  despicable  individual.  You  have  behaved 
basely,  and  all  for  nothing.  If  the  woman  took 
your  fancy,  you  had  but  to  tell  me.  I  was  tired  of 
her.  I  had  had  enough  of  her.  I  would  have 
willingly  left  her  to  you." 

He  spoke  thus  to  hide  his  pain,  for  he  loved 
Gilberte  more  than  ever,  and  the  creature's 
treachery  caused  him  great  suffering.  He  pursued  : 

"  I  was  about  to  ask  you  to  take  her  off  my  hands. 
But  you  have  followed  your  lower  nature — you  have 
behaved  like  a  sweep." 

If  at  this  solemn  moment  Arcade  had  but 
spoken  one  word  from  his  heart,  Maurice  would 


282    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

have  burst  into  tears,  and  forgiven  his  friend  and 
his  mistress,  and  all  three  would  have  become  con- 
tent and  happy  once  again.  But  Arcade  had  not 
been  nourished  on  the  milk  of  human  kindness. 
He  had  never  suffered,  and  did  not  know  how  to 
sympathise  with  suffering.  He  replied  with  frigid 
wisdom : 

"  My  dear  Maurice,  that  same  necessity  which 
orders  and  constrains  the  actions  of  living  beings, 
produces  effects  that  are  often  unexpected,  and 
sometimes  absurd.  Thus  it  is  that  I  have  been  led 
to  displease  you.  You  would  not  reproach  me  if 
you  had  a  good  philosophical  understanding  of 
nature  ;  for  you  would  then  know  that  free-will  is 
but  an  illusion,  and  that  physiological  affinities  are 
as  exactly  determined  as  are  chemical  combinations, 
and,  like  them,  may  be  summed  up  in  a  formula. 
I  think  that,  in  your  case,  it  might  be  possible  to 
inculcate  these  truths,  but  it  would  be  a  difficult 
task,  and  maybe,  they  would  not  bring  you  the 
serenity  which  eludes  you.  It  is  fitting,  therefore, 
that  I  should  leave  this  spot,  and " 

"  Stay,"  said  Maurice. 

Maurice  had  a  very  clear  sense  of  social  obligations. 
He  put  honour,  when  he  thought  about  it,  above 
everything.  So  now  he  told  himself  very  forcibly 
that  the  outrage  he  had  suffered  could  only  be 
wiped  out  with  blood.  This  traditional  ide«, 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     283 

instantly  lent  an  unexpected  nobility  to  his  speech 
and  bearing. 

"  It  is  I,  Monsieur,"  said  he,  "  who  will  quit  this 
place,  never  to  return.  You  will  remain  here, 
since  you  are  a  refugee.  My  seconds  will  wait 
upon  you." 

The  angel  smiled. 

"  I  will  receive  them,  if  it  gives  you  pleasure, 
but,  bethink  you,  my  dear  Maurice,  I  am  in- 
vulnerable. Celestial  spirits  even  when  they  are 
materialised  cannot  be  touched  by  point  of  sword 
or  pistol  shot.  Consider,  my  dear  Maurice,  the 
awkward  situation  in  which  this  fatal  inequality 
puts  me,  and  realise  that  in  refusing  to  appoint 
seconds  I  cannot  give  as  a  reason  my  celestial  nature, 
— it  would  be  unprecedented." 

"  Monsieur,"  replied  the  heir  of  the  Bussart 
d'Esparvieu's,  "  you  should  have  thought  of  that 
before  you  insulted  me." 

Out  he  marched  haughtily ;  but  no  sooner  was 
he  in  the  street  than  he  staggered  like  a  drunken 
man.  The  rain  was  still  falling.  He  walked 
unseeing,  unhearing,  at  haphazard,  dragging  his 
feet  in  the  gutters  through  pools  of  water,  through 
heaps  of  mud.  He  followed  the  outer  boulevards 
for  a  long  time,  and  at  length,  fordone  with  weari- 
ness, lay  down  on  the  edge  of  a  piece  of  waste  land. 
He  was  muddied  up  to  the  eyes,  mud  and  tears 


284    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

smeared  his  face,  the  brim  of  his  hat  was  dripping 
with  rain.  A  passer-by,  taking  him  for  a  beggar, 
tossed  him  a  copper.  He  picked  it  up,  put  it 
carefully  in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  set  off  to  find 
his  seconds. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

WHICH  TREATS  OF  AN  AFFAIR  OF  HONOUR,  AND 
WHICH  WILL  AFFORD  THE  READER  AN  OPPOR- 
TUNITY OF  JUDGING  WHETHER,  AS  ARCADE 
AFFIRMS,  THE  EXPERIENCE  OF  OUR  FAULTS 
MAKES  BETTER  MEN  AND  WOMEN  OF  US 

HE  ground  chosen  for  the  combat 
was  Colonel  Manchon's  garden,  on 
the  Boulevard  de  la  Reine  at  Ver- 
sailles. Messieurs  de  la  Verdeliere 
and  Le  True  de  Ruffec,  who  had 
both  of  them  constant  practice  in  affairs  of  honour 
and  knew  the  rules  with  great  exactness,  assisted 
Maurice  d'Esparvieu.  No  duel  was  ever  fought 
in  the  Catholic  world  without  Monsieur  de  la 
Verdeliere  being  present ;  and,  in  making  applica- 
tion to  this  swordsman,  Maurice  had  conformed  to 
custom,  though  not  without  a  certain  reluctance,  for 
he  had  been  notorious  as  the  lover  of  Madame  de  la 
Verdeliere  ;  but  Monsieur  de  la  Verdeliere  was  not 
to  be  looked  upon  as  a  husband.  He  was  an  insti- 
tution. As  to  Monsieur  Le  True  de  Ruffec,  honour 

was  his  only  known   profession  and  avowedly  his 

285 


286     THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

sole  resource,  and  when  the  matter  was  made  the 
subject  of  ill-natured  comment  in  Society,  the 
question  was  asked  what  finer  career  than  that  of 
honour  Monsieur  Le  True  de  Ruffec  could  possibly 
have  adopted.  Arcade's  seconds  were  Prince  Istar 
and  Theophile.  The  celestial  musician  had  not 
voluntarily  nor  with  a  good  grace  taken  a  hand  in 
this  affair.  He  had  a  horror  of  every  kind  of 
violence  and  disapproved  of  single  combat.  The 
report  of  pistols  and  the  clash  of  swords  were 
intolerable  to  him,  and  the  sight  of  blood  made 
him  faint.  This  gentle  son  of  Heaven  had 
obstinately  refused  to  act  as  second  to  his  brother 
Arcade,  and  to  bring  him  to  the  starting-point  the 
Kerub  had  had  to  threaten  to  break  a  bottle  of 
panclastite  over  his  head. 

Besides  the  combatants,  the  seconds  and  the 
doctors,  the  only  people  in  the  garden  were  a 
few  officers  from  the  barracks  at  Versailles  and 
several  reporters.  Although  young  d'Esparvieu 
was  known  merely  as  a  young  man  of  family,  and 
Arcade  had  never  been  heard  of  at  all,  the  duel 
had  attracted  quite  a  large  crowd  of  inquisitive 
individuals,  and  the  windows  of  the  adjoining 
houses  were  crammed  with  photographers,  reporters, 
and  Society  people.  What  had  aroused  much 
curiosity  was  that  a  woman  was  known  to  be  the 
cause  of  the  quarrel.  Many  mentioned  Bouchotte, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    287 

but  the  majority  said  it  was  Madame  des  Aubels. 
It  had  been  remarked  upon,  moreover,  that  duels 
in  which  Monsieur  de  la  Verdeliere  acted  as  second 
drew  all  Paris. 

The  sky  was  a  soft  blue,  the  garden  all  a-bloom 
with  roses,  a  blackbird  was  piping  in  a  tree.  Mon- 
sieur de  la  Verdeliere,  who,  stick  in  hand,  conducted 
the  affair,  laid  the  points  of  the  swords  together, 
and  said : 

"Allez,  Messieurs" 

Maurice  d'Esparvieu  attacked  by  doubling  and 
beating  the  blade.  Arcade  retired,  keeping  his 
sword  in  line.  The  first  engagement  was  without 
result.  The  seconds  were  under  the  impression  that 
Monsieur  d'Esparvieu  was  in  a  grievous  state  of 
nervous  irritability,  and  that  his  adversary  would 
wear  him  down.  In  the  second  encounter  Maurice 
attacked  wildly,  spread  out  his  arms,  and  exposed 
his  breast.  He  attacked  as  he  advanced,  gave  a 
straight  thrust,  and  the  point  of  his  sword  grazed 
Arcade  on  the  shoulder.  The  latter  was  thought  to 
be  wounded.  But  the  seconds  ascertained  with 
surprise  that  it  was  Maurice  who  had  received  a 
scratch  on  the  wrist.  Maurice  asserted  that  he  felt 
nothing,  and  Dr.  Quille  declared,  after  examination, 
that  his  client  might  continue  the  fight.  After  the 
regulation  quarter  of  an  hour  the  duel  was  resumed. 
Maurice  attacked  with  fury.  His  adversary  was 


288    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

obviously  nursing  him,  and,  what  disturbed  Mon- 
sieur de  la  Verdeliere,  seemed  to  be  paying  very 
little  attention  to  his  own  defence.  At  the  opening 
of  the  fifth  bout,  a  black  spaniel  that  had  got  into 
the  garden  no  one  knew  how,  rushed  out  from  a 
clump  of  rose-bushes,  made  its  way  on  to  the  space 
reserved  for  the  combatants,  and,  in  spite  of  sticks 
and  cries,  ran  in  between  Maurice's  legs.  The 
latter  seemed  as  though  his  arm  were  benumbed, 
merely  gave  a  shoulder-thrust  at  his  invulnerable 
opponent.  He  then  delivered  a  straight  lunge  and 
impaled  his  arm  on  his  adversary's  sword,  which 
made  a  deep  wound  just  below  the  elbow. 

Monsieur  de  la  Verdeliere  stopped  the  fight, 
which  had  lasted  an  hour  and  a  half.  Maurice  was 
conscious  of  a  painful  shock.  They  laid  him  down 
on  a  grassy  bank  against  a  wall  covered  with  wistaria. 
While  the  surgeon  was  dressing  the  wound,  Maurice 
called  Arcade  and  offered  him  his  wounded  hand. 
And  when  the  victor,  saddened  with  his  victory, 
advanced,  Maurice  embraced  him  tenderly,  saying : 

"  Be  generous,  Arcade ;  forgive  my  treachery. 
Now  that  we  have  fought,  I  can  ask  you  to  be 
reconciled  with  me." 

He  embraced  his  friend,  weeping,  and  whispered 
in  his  ear : 

"  Come  and  see  me,  and  bring  Gilberte." 

Maurice,   who   was  still  unreconciled   with  his 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    289 

parents,  was  taken  to  the  little  flat  in  the  Rue  de 
Rome.  No  sooner  was  he  stretched  on  the  bed 
at  the  far  end  of  the  bedroom  where  the  curtains 
were  drawn  as  on  the  day  of  the  apparition,  than 
he  saw  Arcade  and  Gilberte  appear.  He  began  to 
suffer  greatly  from  his  wound  ;  his  temperature 
was  rising,  but  he  was  at  peace,  happy  and  contented. 
Angel  and  woman,  both  in  tears,  threw  themselves 
at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  He  took  both  their  hands 
with  his  left,  smiled  on  them,  and  kissed  them 
tenderly. 

"  I  am  sure  now  that  I  shall  never  quarrel  with 
either  of  you  again  ;  you  will  deceive  me  no  more. 
I  now  know  you  are  capable  of  anything." 

Gilberte,  weeping,  swore  that  Maurice  had 
been  misled  by  appearances,  that  she  had  never 
betrayed  him  with  Arcade,  that  she  had  never 
betrayed  him  at  all.  And  in  a  great  gush  of  sincerity 
she  persuaded  herself  that  this  was  so. 

"  You  wrong  yourself,  Gilberte,"  replied  the 
wounded  man.  "  It  did  happen  ;  it  had  to.  And 
it  is  well.  Gilberte,  you  were  basely  false  to  me 
with  my  best  friend  in  this  very  room,  and  you 
were  right.  If  you  had  not  been  we  should  not  be 
here,  reunited,  all  three  of  us,  and  I  should  not  be 
at  your  side  tasting  the  greatest  happiness  of  my 
life.  Oh,  Gilberte,  how  wrong  of  you  to  deny  a 
perfect  and  accomplished  fact  !  " 


290    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

"  If  you  wish,  my  friend,"  replied  Gilberte,  a 
little  acidly,  "  I  will  not  deny  it.  But  it  will  only 
be  to  please  you." 

Maurice  made  her  sit  down  on  the  bed,  and 
begged  Arcade  to  be  seated  in  the  arm-chair. 

"  My  friend,"  said  Arcade,  "  I  was  innocent. 
I  became  man.  Straightway  I  did  evil.  Then  I 
became  better." 

"  Do  not  let  us  exaggerate  things,"  said  Maurice. 
"  Let's  have  a  game  of  bridge." 

Scarcely,  however,  had  the  patient  seen  three 
aces  in  his  hand  and  called  "  no  trumps,"  than  his 
eyes  began  to  swim,  the  cards  slipped  from  his 
fingers,  his  head  fell  heavily  back  on  the  pillow, 
and  he  complained  of  a  violent  headache.  Almost 
immediately,  Madame  des  Aubels  went  off  to  pay 
some  calls,  for  she  made  a  point  of  appearing  in 
Society,  in  order  that  the  calmness  and  confidence 
of  her  demeanour  might  give  the  lie  to  the  various 
rumours  that  were  current  concerning  her.  Arcade 
saw  her  to  the  door,  and,  with  a  kiss,  inhaled  from 
her  a  delicate  perfume  which  he  brought  back  with 
him  into  the  room  where  Maurice  lay  dozing. 

"  I  am  perfectly  content,"  murmured  the  latter, 
"  that  things  should  have  happened  as  they  have." 

"  It  was  bound  to  be  so,"  answered  the  Spirit. 
"  All  the  other  angels  in  revolt  would  have  done 
as  I  did  with  Gilberte.  '  Women,'  saith  the  Apostle, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    291 

'  should  pray  with  their  heads  covered,  because  of 
the  angels,'  and  the  Apostle  speaks  thus  because  he 
knows  that  the  angels  are  disturbed  when  they  look 
upon  them  and  see  that  they  are  beautiful.  No 
sooner  do  they  touch  the  earth  than  they  desire 
to  embrace  mortal  women  and  fulfil  their  desire. 
Their  clasp  is  full  of  strength  and  sweetness,  they 
hold  the  secret  of  those  ineffable  caresses  which 
plunge  the  daughters  of  men  into  unfathomable 
depths  of  delight.  Laying  upon  the  lips  of  their 
happy  victims  a  honey  that  burns  like  fire,  making 
their  veins  flow  with  torrents  of  refreshing  flames, 
they  leave  them  raptured  and  undone." 

"  Stop  your  clatter,  you  unclean  beast !  "  cried 
the  wounded  one. 

"  One  word  more  !  "  said  the  angel ;  "  just  one 
other  word,  my  dear  Maurice,  to  bear  out  what  I 
say,  and  I  will  let  you  rest  quietly.  There's  nothing 
like  having  sound  references.  In  order  to  assure 
yourself  that  I  am  not  deceiving  you,  Maurice, 
on  this  subject  of  the  amorous  embraces  of  angels 
and  women,  look  up  Justin,  Apologies  I  and  II ; 
Flavius  Josephus,  Jewish  Antiquities,  Book  I, 
Chapter  III ;  Athenagoras,  Concerning  the  Resur- 
rection ;  Lactantius,  Book  II,  Chapter  XV ;  Ter- 
tullian,  On  the  Veil  of  the  Virgins ;  Marcus  of 
Ephesus  in  Psellus  ;  Eusebius,  Praparatio  Evangelica, 
Book  V,  Chapter  IV ;  Saint  Ambrose,  in  his 


292    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

book  on  Noah  and  the  Ark,  Chapter  V ;  Saint 
Augustine,  in  his  City  of  God,  Book  XV,  Chapter 
XXIII ;  Father  Meldonat,  the  Jesuit,  Treatise  on 
Demons,  page  248 ;  Pierre  Lebyer  the  King's 
Counsellor " 

"  Arcade,  please,  for  pity's  sake,  be  quiet ;  do, 
please  do,  and  send  this  dog  away,"  cried  Maurice, 
whose  face  was  burning,  and  whose  eyes  were 
starting  from  his  head  ;  for  in  his  delirium  he 
thought  he  saw  a  black  spaniel  on  his  bed. 

Madame  de  la  Verdeliere,  who  was  assiduous  in 
every  modish  and  patriotic  practice,  was  reckoned, 
in  the  best  French  society,  as  one  of  the  most 
gracious  of  the  great  ladies  interested  in  good  works. 
She  came  herself  to  ask  for  news  of  Maurice,  and 
offered  to  nurse  the  wounded  man.  But  at  the 
vehement  instigation  of  Madame  des  Aubels, 
Arcade  shut  the  door  in  her  face.  Expressions  of 
sympathy  were  showered  upon  Maurice.  Piled 
on  the  salver,  visiting  cards  displayed  their  innumer- 
able little  dogs'  ears.  Monsieur  Le  True  de  Ruffec 
was  one  of  the  first  to  show  his  manly  sympathy  at 
the  flat  in  the  Rue  de  Rome,  and,  holding  out  his 
loyal  hand,  asked  young  d'Esparvieu  as  one  honour- 
able man  to  another  for  twenty-five  louis  to  pay  a 
debt  of  honour. 

"  Of  course,  my  dear  Maurice,  that  is  the  sort  of 
thing  one  could  not  ask  of  everybody." 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    293 

The  same  day  Monsieur  Gaetan  came  to  press 
his  nephew's  hand.  The  latter  introduced  Arcade. 

"  This  is  my  guardian-angel,  whose  foot  you 
thought  so  beautiful  when  you  saw  the  print  it 
had  made  on  the  tell-tale  powder,  uncle.  He 
appeared  to  me  last  year  in  this  very  room. 
You  don't  believe  it  ?  Well,  it  is  true,  never- 
theless." 

Then  turning  towards  the  Spirit  he  said: 

"  What  say  you,  Arcade  ?  The  Abbe  Patouille, 
who  is  a  great  theologian  and  a  good  priest,  does  not 
believe  that  you  are  an  angel ;  and  Uncle  Gaetan, 
who  doesn't  know  his  catechism  and  hasn't  a  scrap 
of  religion  in  him,  doesn't  think  so  either.  They 
deny  you,  the  pair  of  them  ;  the  one  because  he 
has  faith,  the  other  because  he  hasn't.  After 
that  you  may  be  sure  that  your  history,  if  ever  it 
comes  to  be  narrated,  will  scarcely  appear  credible. 
Moreover,  the  man  that  took  it  into  his  head  to 
tell  your  story  would  not  be  a  man  of  taste,  and 
would  not  come  in  for  much  approval.  For  your 
story  is  not  a  pretty  one.  I  love  you,  but  I  sit  in 
judgment  upon  you,  too.  Since  you  fell  into 
atheism,  you  have  become  an  abominable  scoundrel. 
A  bad  angel,  a  bad  friend,  a  traitor  and  a  homicide, 
for  I  suppose  it  was  to  bring  about  my  death  that 
you  sent  that  black  spaniel  between  my  legs  on  the 
duelling-ground." 


294    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

The  angel  shrugged  his  shoulders  and,  addressing 
Gaetan,  said : 

"  Alas !  Monsieur,  I  am  not  surprised  at  finding 
little  credit  in  your  eyes.  I  have  been  told  that  you 
have  fallen  out  with  the  Judaeo-Christian  heaven 
which  is  where  I  came  from." 

"  Monsieur,"  answered  Gaetan,  "  my  faith  in 
Jehovah  is  not  sufficiently  strong  to  enable  me  to 
believe  in  his  angels." 

"  Monsieur,  he  whom  you  call  Jehovah  is  really 
a  coarse  and  ignorant  demiurge,  and  his  name  is 
laldabaoth." 

"  In  that  case,  Monsieur,  I  am  perfectly  ready 
to  believe  in  him.  He  is  a  narrow-minded  ignoramus 
is  he  ?  Then  belief  in  his  existence  offers  me  no 
further  difficulty.  How  is  he  getting  on  ?  " 

"  Badly !  We  are  going  to  lay  him  low  next 
month." 

"  Don't  make  too  sure  of  that,  Monsieur.  You 
remind  me  of  my  brother-in-law,  Cuissart,  who  has 
been  expecting  to  hear  of  the  fall  of  the  Republic 
for  the  past  thirty  years." 

"  You  see,  Arcade,"  exclaimed  Maurice,  "  Uncle 
Gaetan  thinks  as  I  do.  He  knows  you  won't 
succeed." 

"  And,  pray,  Monsieur  Gaetan,  what  makes  you 
think  I  shall  not  succeed  ?  " 

"  Your  laldabaoth  is  still  very  powerful  in  this 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    295 

world,  if  he  isn't  in  the  other.  In  days  gone  by  he 
used  to  be  upheld  by  his  priests,  by  those  who 
believed  in  him.  Now  he  is  supported  by  those 
who  do  not  believe  in  him,  by  the  philosophers. 
A  pedant  of  a  fellow  called  Picrochole,  has  recently 
come  on  the  scene  who  wants  to  make  a  bankrupt  of 
science  in  order  to  do  a  good  turn  to  the  Church. 
And  just  lately  Pragmatism  has  been  invented  for 
the  express  purpose  of  gaining  credit  for  religion 
in  the  minds  of  rationalists." 

"  You  have  been  studying  Pragmatism  ?  " 

"  Not  I  !  I  was  frivolous  once,  and  I  went  in  for 
metaphysics.  I  read  Hegel  and  Kant.  I  have 
become  serious  with  years,  and  now  I  only  trouble 
myself  about  things  evident  to  the  senses  :  what 
the  eye  can  see  or  what  the  ear  can  hear.  Man  is 
summed  up  in  Art.  All  the  rest  is  moonshine." 

Thus  the  conversation  went  on  until  evening  ; 
it  was  marked  by  obscenities  that  would  have 
brought  a  blush — I  will  not  say  to  a  cuirassier,  for 
cuirassiers  are  frequently  chaste,  but  even  to  a 
Parisienne. 

Monsieur  Sariette  came  to  see  his  old  pupil. 
When  he  entered  the  room  the  bust  of  Alexandre 
d'Esparvieu  seemed  to  take  shape  behind  the 
librarian's  bald  head.  He  drew  near  the  bed. 
In  the  place  of  blue  curtains,  mirrored  wardrobe, 
and  chimney-piece,  there  straightway  came  into 


296    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

view  the  heavy-laden  bookcases  of  the  room  of  the 
globes  and  busts,  and  the  air  was  heavy  with  piles 
of  papers,  records  and  files.  Monsieur  Sariette 
could  not  be  dissociated  from  his  library ;  one 
could  not  conceive  of  him  or  even  see  him  apart  from 
it.  He  himself  was  paler,  more  vague,  more  shadowy, 
and  more  a  creature  of  the  fancy  than  the  fancies 
he  evoked. 

Maurice,  who  had  grown  very  quiet,  was  sensible 
of  this  mark  of  friendship. 

"  Sit  down,  Monsieur  Sariette, — you  know 
Madame  des  Aubels.  May  I  introduce  Arcade  to 
you, — my  guardian-angel.  It  was  he  who,  while 
yet  invisible,  pillaged  your  library  for  two  years, 
made  you  lose  all  desire  for  food  and  drink,  and 
drove  you  to  the  verge  of  madness.  He  it  was  who 
moved  piles  of  books  from  the  room  of  the  busts 
to  my  summer-house  one  day  ;  under  your  very 
nose,  he  took  away  I  know  not  what  precious 
volumes,  and  was  the  cause  of  your  falling  on  the 
staircase  ;  another  day  he  took  a  volume  of  Salomon 
Reinach's,  and,  forced  to  go  out  with  me  (for  he 
never  left  me,  as  I  have  learnt  later),  he  let  the 
volume  drop  in  the  gutter  of  the  Rue  Princesse. 
Forgive  him,  Monsieur  Sariette, — he  had  no 
pockets.  He  was  invisible.  I  bitterly  regret, 
Monsieur  Sariette,  that  all  your  old  books  were  not 
devoured  by  fire  or  swallowed  up  by  a  flood.  They 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    297 

made  my  angel  lose  his  head.  He  became  man,  and 
now  knows  neither  faith  nor  obedience  to  laws.  It  is 
I,  now,  who  am  his  guardian-angel.  God  knows  how 
it  will  all  end." 

While  listening  to  this  speech,  Monsieur  Sariette's 
face  took  on  an  expression  of  infinite,  irreparable, 
eternal  sadness ;  the  sadness  of  a  mummy.  Rising 
to  take  his  leave,  the  sorrowful  librarian  murmured 
in  Arcade's  ear: 

"  The  poor  child  is  very  ill.    He  is  delirious." 

Maurice  called  the  old  man  back. 

"  Do  stay,  Monsieur  Sariette.  You  shall  have  a 
game  of  bridge  with  us.  Monsieur  Sariette,  listen 
to  my  advice.  Do  not  do  as  I  did — do  not  keep 
bad  company.  You  will  be  lost.  I  shudder  at  the 
mere  thought.  Monsieur  Sariette,  do  not  go  yet. 
I  have  something  very  important  to  ask  you.  When 
you  come  again,  bring  me  a  book  on  the  truth  of 
religion,  so  that  I  may  study  it.  I  must  restore  to 
my  guardian-angel  the  faith  which  he  has  lost." 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

WHEREIN  WE  ARE  LED  TO  MARVEL  AT  THE  READINESS 
WITH  WHICH  AN  HONEST  MAN  OF  TIMID  AND 
GENTLE  NATURE  CAN  COMMIT  A  HORRIBLE 
CRIME 

ROFOUNDLY  distressed  by  the 
dark  utterances  of  young  Maurice, 
Monsieur  Sariette  took  a  motor- 
omnibus,  and  went  to  see  Pere 
Guinardon,  his  friend,  his  only 
friend,  the  one  person  in  the  whole  world  whom  it 
gave  him  pleasure  to  see  and  hear.  When  Monsieur 
Sariette  entered  the  shop  in  the  Rue  de  Courcelles, 
Guinardon  was  alone,  dozing  in  the  depths  of  an 
antique  arm-chair.  His  face,  surrounded  by  his 
curly  hair  and  luxuriant  beard,  was  crimson  in 
hue.  Little  violet  filaments  spread  a  network 
about  the  fleshy  part  of  his  nose,  to  which  the 
wines  of  Burgundy  had  imparted  a  purple  tint ; 
for  there  was  no  longer  any  disguising  the  fact, 
Pere  Guinardon  drank.  Two  feet  away  from  him, 
on  the  fair  Octavie's  work-table,  a  rose,  all  but 
withered,  drooped  in  an  empty  vase,  and  in  a 

298 


THE  REVOLT  OF  .THE  ANGELS     299 

basket  a  piece  of  embroidery  was  lying  unfinished 
and  neglected.  The  young  Octavie's  absences  from 
the  shop  were  growing  more  and  more  frequent, 
and  Monsieur  Blancmesnil  never  called  when  she 
was  not  there.  The  reason  of  this  was  that  they 
were  meeting  three  times  a  week  at  five  o'clock  in  a 
house  close  to  the  Champs  Elysees.  Pere  Guinardon 
knew  nothing  of  that.  He  did  not  know  the  full 
extent  of  his  misfortune,  but  he  suffered. 

Monsieur  Sariette  shook  his  old  friend  by  the 
hand ;  but  he  did  not  enquire  for  the  young 
Octavie,  for  he  refused  to  recognise  the  connexion. 
He  would  sooner  have  talked  about  Zephyrine, 
who  had  been  so  cruelly  deserted,  and  whom  he 
hoped  the  old  man  would  make  his  lawful  wife. 
But  Monsieur  Sariette  was  prudent.  He  contented 
himself  with  asking  Guinardon  how  he  was. 

"  Perfectly  well,"  was  Guinardon's  reply ;  but 
he  felt  ill,  for  either  age  and  love-making  had 
undermined  his  sturdy  constitution,  or  else  young 
Octavie's  faithlessness  had  dealt  her  lover  a  fatal 
blow.  "  God  be  praised,"  he  went  on,  "  I  still 
retain  my  powers  of  mind  and  body.  I  am  chaste. 
Be  chaste,  Sariette.  Chastity  is  strength." 

That  evening  Pere  Guinardon  had  taken  some 
specially  valuable  books  out  of  the  king-wood 
cabinet  to  show  to  a  distinguished  bibliophile, 
Monsieur  Victor  Meyer,  and  after  the  latter's 


u 


300    THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

departure  he  had  dropped  off  to  sleep  without 
putting  them  back  in  their  places.  Books  had 
an  attraction  for  Monsieur  Sariette,  and  seeing 
these  particular  volumes  on  the  marble  top  of 
the  cabinet,  he  began  to  examine  them  with 
interest.  The  first  one  he  looked  at  was  La  Pucelle, 
in  morocco,  with  the  English  continuation.  Doubt- 
less it  pained  his  patriotic  and  Christian  heart  to 
admire  its  text  and  illustrations,  but  a  good  copy 
was  always  virtuous  and  pure  in  his  sight.  Con- 
tinuing to  chat  very  affectionately  with  Guinardon, 
he  picked  up,  one  by  one,  the  books  which  the 
antiquary  had,  for  one  reason  or  another — binding, 
illustrations,  distinguished  ownership,  or  scarcity — 
added  to  his  stock. 

Suddenly  a  glorious  shout  of  joy  and  love  broke 
from  his  lips.  He  had  discovered  the  Lucretius  of 
the  Prior  de  Vendome,  his  Lucretius,  and  he  was 
clasping  it  to  his  bosom. 

"  Once  again  I  behold  you,"  he  sighed,  as  he 
pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

At  first  Pere  Guinardon  could  not  quite  make 
out  what  his  old  friend  was  talking  about ;  but 
when  the  latter  declared  to  him  that  the  volume 
was  from  the  d'Esparvieu  collection,  that  it  belonged 
to  him,  Sariette,  and  that  he  was  going  to  take  it 
away  without  further  ado,  the  antiquary  completely 
woke  up,  got  on  his  legs,  declared  emphatically  that 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    301 

the  book  belonged  to  him,  Guinardon,  by  right  of 
true  and  lawful  purchase,  and  that  he  would  not 
part  with  it  unless  he  got  five  thousand  francs  for 
it  cash  down. 

"  You  don't  take  in  what  I  am  telling  you," 
answered  Sariette.  "  The  book  belongs  to  the 
d'Esparvieu  library ;  I  must  restore  it  to  its 
place." 

"  Pas  de  fa,  Lisette  " hummed  Guinardon. 

"  The  book  belongs  to  me,  I  tell  you  !  " 
"  You  are  crazy,  my  good  Sariette !  " 
And   noticing   that,    as   a    matter   of   fact,   the 
librarian  had  a  wandering  look  in  his  eye,  he  took 
the  book  from  him,  and  tried  to  change  the  con- 
versation. 

"  Have  you  seen,  Sariette,  that  the  rascals  are 
going  to  rip  up  the  Palais  Mazarin,  and  cover  up 
the  very  heart  and  centre  of  the  Old  Town,  the 
finest  and  most  venerable  place  in  the  whole  of 
Paris,  with  the  deuce  knows  what  works  of  art  of 
theirs  ?  They  are  worse  than  the  Vandals,  for  the 
Vandals,  although  they  destroyed  the  buildings  of 
antiquity,  did  not  replace  them  with  hideous  and 
disgusting  erections  and  atrocious  bridges  like  the 
Pont  d'Alexandre.  And  your  poor  Rue  Garanciere, 
Sariette,  has  fallen  a  prey  to  the  barbarians.  What 
have  they  done  with  the  pretty  bronze  mask  of  the 
Palace  fountain  ? " 


302    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

Monsieur  Sariette  never  listened  to  a  word  of  all 
this. 

"  Guinardon,  you  have  not  understood  me. 
Now  listen.  This  book  belongs  to  the  d'Esparvieu 
library.  It  was  taken  away,  how  or  by  whom  I  know 
not.  Dreadful  and  mysterious  things  went  on  in 
that  library.  But,  anyhow,  the  book  was  stolen. 
I  need  scarcely  appeal  to  your  sentiments  of 
scrupulous  probity,  my  dear  friend.  You  would 
not  like  to  be  regarded  as  the  receiver  of  stolen 
goods.  Give  me  the  book.  I  will  return  it  to 
Monsieur  d'Esparvieu,  who  will  duly  requite  you  ; 
of  that  you  may  be  sure.  Rely  on  his  generosity, 
and  you  will  be  acting  like  the  downright  good 
fellow  that  you  are." 

The  antiquary  smiled  a  bitter  smile. 

"  Catch  me  relying  on  the  generosity  of  that 
old  curmudgeon  of  a  d'Esparvieu.  Why,  he'd 
skin  a  flea  to  get  its  coat.  Look  at  me,  Sariette, 
old  boy,  and  tell  me  if  I  look  like  a  dunderhead. 
You  know  perfectly  well  that  d'Esparvieu  refused 
to  give  fifty  francs  in  a  second-hand  shop  for  a 
portrait  of  Alexandre  d'Esparvieu,  the  founder  of 
the  family,  by  Hersent,  and  that  consequently  the 
founder  of  the  family  has  had  to  remain  on  the 
Boulevard  Montparnasse,  propped  against  a  Jew 
hawker's  stall,  just  opposite  the  cemetery,  where  all 
the  dogs  of  the  neighbourhood  come  and  make 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     303 

water  on  him.  Catch  me  trusting  to  Monsieur 
d'Esparvieu's  liberality  !  You've  got  some  bright 
ideas  in  your  head,  you  have  !  " 

"  Very  well,  Guinardon,  I  myself  will  undertake 
to  pay  you  any  indemnity  that  a  board  of  arbitrators 
may  fix  upon.  Do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Now  don't  go  and  do  the  handsome  for  people 
who  won't  give  you  so  much  as  a  thank-you.  This 
man,  d'Esparvieu,  has  taken  your  knowledge, 
your  energies,  your  whole  life  for  a  salary  that 
even  a  valet  wouldn't  accept.  So  leave  that  idea 
alone.  In  any  case  it  is  too  late.  The  book  is 
sold." 

"  Sold  ?  To  whom  ?  "  asked  Sariette  in  agonized 
tones. 

"  What  does  that  matter  ?  You'll  never  see  it 
again.  You'll  hear  no  more  about  it ;  it's  off  to 
America." 

"  To  America !  The  Lucretius  with  the  arms  of 
Philippe  de  Vendome  and  marginalia  in  Voltaire's 
own  hand  !  My  Lucretius  off  to  America  !  " 

Pere  Guinardon  began  to  laugh. 

"  My  dear  Sariette,  you  remind  me  of  the 
Chevalier  des  Grieux  when  he  learns  that  his 
darling  mistress  is  to  be  transported  to  the  Mississipi. 
*  My  dear  mistress  going  to  the  Mississipi !  '  says  he." 

"  No !  no !  "  answered  Sariette,  very  pale,  "  this 
book  shall  not  go  to  America.  It  shall  return,  as  it 


304    THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

ought,  to  the  d'Esparvieu  library.    Let  me  have  it, 
Guinardon." 

The  antiquary  made  a  second  attempt  to  put 
an  end  to  an  interview  that  now  looked  as  if  it 
might  take  an  ugly  turn. 

"  My  good  Sariette,  you  haven't  told  me  what 
you  think  of  my  Greco.  You  never  so  much  as 
glanced  at  it.  It  is  an  admirable  piece  of  work  all 
the  same." 

And  Guinardon,  putting  the  picture  in  a  good 
light,  went  on : 

"  Now  just  look  at  Saint  Francis  here,  the  poor 
man  of  the  Lord,  the  brother  of  Jesus.  See  how  his 
fuliginous  body  rises  heavenward  like  the  smoke 
from  an  agreeable  sacrifice,  like  the  sacrifice  of 
Abel." 

"  Give  me  the  book,  Guinardon,"  said  Sariette, 
without  turning  his  head  ;  "  give  me  the  book." 

The  blood  suddenly  flew  to  Pere  Guinardon's 
head. 

"  That's  enough  of  it,"  he  shouted,  as  red  as  a 
turkey-cock,  the  veins  standing  out  on  his  forehead. 

And  he  dropped  the  Lucretius  into  his  jacket 
pocket. 

Straightway  old  Sariette  flew  at  the  antiquary, 
assailed  him  with  sudden  fury,  and,  frail  and 
weakly  as  he  was,  butted  him  back  into  young 
Octavie's  arm-chair. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    305 

Guinardon,  in  furious  amazement,  belched  forth 
the  most  horrible  abuse  on  the  old  maniac  and 
gave  him  a  punch  that  sent  him  staggering  back 
four  paces  against  the  Coronation  of  the  Virgin^  by 
Fra  Angelico,  which  fell  down  with  a  crash.  Sariette 
returned  to  the  charge,  and  tried  to  drag  the  book 
out  of  the  pocket  in  which  it  lay  hid.  This  time 
Pere  Guinardon  would  really  have  floored  him  had 
he  not  been  blinded  by  the  blood  that  was  rushing 
to  his  head,  and  hit  sideways  at  the  work-table  of  his 
absent  mistress.  Sariette  fastened  himself  on  to  his 
bewildered  adversary,  held  him  down  in  the  arm- 
chair, and  with  his  little  bony  hands  clutched  him 
by  the  neck,  which,  red  as  it  was  already,  became 
a  deep  crimson.  Guinardon  struggled  to  get  free, 
but  the  little  fingers,  feeling  the  mass  of  soft,  warm 
flesh  about  them,  embedded  themselves  in  it  with 
delicious  ecstasy.  Some  unknown  force  made  them 
hold  fast  to  their  prey.  Guinardon's  throat  began 
to  rattle,  saliva  was  oozing  from  one  corner  of  his 
mouth.  His  enormous  frame  quivered  now  and 
again  beneath  the  grasp  ;  but  the  tremors  grew 
more  and  more  intermittent  and  spasmodic.  At 
last  they  ceased.  The  murderous  hands  did  not 
let  go  their  hold.  Sariette  had  to  make  a  violent 
effort  to  loose  them.  His  temples  were  buzzing. 
Nevertheless  he  could  hear  the  rain  falling  outside, 
muffled  steps  going  past  on  the  pavement,  newspaper 


306    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

men  shouting  in  the  distance.  He  could  see 
umbrellas  passing  along  in  the  dim  light.  He  drew 
the  book  from  the  dead  man's  pocket  and  fled. 

The  fair  Octavie  did  not  go  back  to  the  shop 
that  night.  She  went  to  sleep  in  a  little  entresol 
underneath  the  bric-a-brac  stores  which  Monsieur 
de  Blancmesnil  had  recently  bought  for  her  in  this 
same  Rue  de  Courcelles.  The  workman  whose 
task  it  was  to  shut  up  the  shop  found  the  antiquary's 
body  still  warm.  He  called  Madame  Lenain,  the 
concierge,  who  laid  Guinardon  on  the  couch,  lit 
a  couple  of  candles,  put  a  sprig  of  box  in  a  saucer 
of  holy  water,  and  closed  the  dead  man's  eyes. 
The  doctor  who  was  called  in  to  certify  the  death 
ascribed  it  to  apoplexy. 

Zephyrine,  informed  of  what  had  happened  by 
Madame  Lenain,  hastened  to  the  house,  and  sat  up 
all  night  with  the  body.  The  dead  man  looked  as  if 
he  were  sleeping.  In  the  flickering  light  of  the 
candles  El  Greco's  Saint  mounted  upwards  like  a 
wreath  of  smoke,  the  gold  of  the  Primitives  gleamed 
in  the  shadows.  Near  the  deathbed  a  little  woman 
by  Baudouin  was  plainly  discernible  giving  herself 
a  douche.  All  through  the  night  Zephyrine's  lamen- 
tations could  be  heard  fifty  yards  away. 

"  He's  dead,  he's  dead ! "  she  kept  saying. 

"  My  friend,  my  divinity,  my  all,  my  love 

But  no  !  he  is  not  dead,  he  moves.  It  is  I,  Michel ; 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS  307 

I,  your  Zephyrine.  Awake,  hear  me !  Answer  me ; 
I  love  you  ;  if  ever  I  caused  you  pain,  forgive  me. 
Dead !  dead !  O,  my  God  !  See  how  beautiful  he  is. 
He  was  so  good,  so  clever,  so  kind.  My  God  ! 
My  God  !  My  God  !  If  I  had  been  there  he  would 
not  now  be  lying  dead.  Michel !  Michel !  " 

When    morning    came    she    was    silent.      They 
thought  she  had  fallen  asleep.    She  was  dead  too. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 


WHICH    DESCRIBES    HOW    NECTAIRE's   FLUTE   WAS 
HEARD    IN    THE   TAVERN    OF   CLODOMIR 

ADAME    DE    LA    VERDELIERE 

having  failed  to  force  an  entree 
as  sick-nurse,  returned  after  several 
days  had  elapsed, — during  the 
absence  of  Madame  des  Aubels, — 
to  ask  Maurice  d'Esparvieu  for  his  subscription 
to  the  French  churches.  Arcade  led  her  to  the 
bedside  of  the  convalescent.  Maurice  whispered 
in  the  angel's  ear : 

"  Traitor,  deliver  me  from  this  ogress  immedi- 
ately, or  you  will  be  answerable  for  the  evil  which 
will  soon  befall." 

"  Be  calm,"  said  Arcade,  with  a  confident 
air. 

After  the  conventional  complimentary  flourishes, 
Madame  de  la  Verdeliere  signed  to  Maurice  to 
dismiss  the  angel.  Maurice  feigned  not  to  under- 
stand. And  Madame  de  la  Verdeliere  disclosed 
the  ostensible  reason  of  her  visit. 

308 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE   ANGELS     309 

"  Our  churches,"  she  said,  "  our  beloved  country 
churches, — what  is  to  become  of  them  ?  " 

Arcade  gazed  at  her  angelically  and  sighed. 

"  They  will  disappear,  Madame ;  they  will  fall 
into  ruin.  And  what  a  pity  !  I  shall  be  inconsolable. 
The  church  amid  the  villagers'  cottages  is  like  the 
hen  amidst  her  chickens." 

"  Just  so  !  "  exclaimed  Madame  de  la  Verdeliere 
with  a  delighted  smile.  "  It  is  just  like  that." 

"  And  the  spires,  Madame  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Monsieur,  the  spires !  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  the  spires,  Madame,  that  stick  up  into 
the  skies  towards  the  little  Cherubim,  like  so 
many  syringes." 

Madame  de  la  Verdeliere  incontinently  left  the 
place. 

That  same  day  Monsieur  1'Abbe  Patouille  came 
to  offer  the  wounded  man  good  counsel  and  con- 
solation. He  exhorted  him  to  break  with  his  bad 
companions  and  to  be  reconciled  to  his  family. 

He  drew  a  picture  of  the  sorrowful  father,  the 
mother  in  tears,  ready  to  receive  their  long  lost 
child  with  open  arms.  Renouncing  with  manly 
effort  a  life  of  profligacy  and  deluding  joys,  Maurice 
would  recover  his  peace  and  strength  of  mind,  he 
would  free  himself  from  devouring  chimeras, 
and  shake  off  the  Evil  Spirit. 

Young  d'Esparvieu  thanked  Abbe  Patouille  for 


3io    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

all  his  kindness,  and  made  a  protestation  of  his 
religious  feelings. 

"  Never,"  said  he,  "  have  I  had  such  faith.  And 
never  have  I  been  in  such  need  of  it.  Just  imagine, 
Monsieur  PAbbe,  I  have  to  teach  my  guardian 
angel  his  catechism  all  over  again,  for  he  has  quite 
forgotten  it !  " 

Monsieur  PAbbe  Patouille  heaved  a  deep  sigh, 
and  exhorted  his  dear  child  to  pray,  there  being 
no  other  resource  but  prayer  for  a  soul  assailed  by 
the  Devil." 

"  Monsieur  PAbbe,"  asked  Maurice,  "  may  I 
introduce  my  guardian  angel  to  you  ?  Do  stay 
a  moment ;  he  has  gone  to  get  me  some  cigarettes." 

"  Unhappy  child  !  " 

And  Abbe  Patouille's  fat  cheeks  drooped  in 
token  of  affliction.  But  almost  immediately  they 
plumped  up  again,  as  a  sign  of  light-heartedness. 
For  in  his  heart  there  was  matter  for  rejoicing. 
Public  opinion  was  improving.  The  Jacobins,  the 
Freemasons,  the  Coalitionists  were  everywhere 
in  disgrace.  The  Smart  Set  led  the  way.  The 
Academic  Fran£aise  was  of  the  right  way  of  think- 
ing. The  number  of  Christian  schools  was  in- 
creasing by  leaps  and  bounds.  The  young  men 
of  the  Quartier  Latin  were  submitting  to  the 
Church,  and  the  Ecole  Normale  exhaled  the 
perfume  of  the  seminary.  The  Cross  was  gaining 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     311 

the  day ;  but  money  was  wanted, — more  money, 
always  money. 

After  six  weeks'  rest,  Maurice  was  allowed 
by  his  doctor  to  take  a  drive.  He  wore  his  arm 
in  a  sling.  His  mistress  and  his  friend  went  with 
him.  They  drove  to  the  Bois,  and  took  a  gentle 
pleasure  in  looking  upon  the  grass  and  the  trees. 
They  smiled  on  everything  and  everything  smiled 
on  them.  As  Arcade  had  said,  their  faults  had 
made  them  better.  By  the  unlooked-for  ways  of 
jealousy  and  anger,  Maurice  had  attained  to  calm 
and  kindliness.  He  still  loved  Gilberte  and  he 
loved  her  with  an  indulgent  love.  The  angel 
still  desired  her  as  much  as  ever,  but  having  once 
possessed  her,  his  desire  had  lost  the  sting  of 
curiosity.  Gilberte  forebore  trying  to  please, 
and  thereby  pleased  the  more.  They  drank  milk 
at  the  Cascade,  and  found  it  good.  They  were 
all  three  innocent.  Arcade  forgot  the  injustice 
of  the  old  tyrant  of  the  world.  But  he  was  soon 
to  be  reminded  of  it. 

On  entering  his  friend's  house,  he  found  Zita 
awaiting  him,  looking  like  a  statue  in  ivory  and 
gold. 

"  You  excite  my  pity,"  she  said  to  him.  "  The 
day  is  at  hand  the  like  of  which  has  never  dawned 
since  the  beginning  of  Time,  and  perhaps  will 
never  dawn  again  before  the  Sun  enters  with  all 


312    THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

its  train  into  the  constellation  of  Hercules.  We 
are  on  the  eve  of  surprising  laldabaoth  in  his 
palace  of  porphyry,  and  you,  who  are  burning 
to  deliver  the  heavens,  who  were  so  eager  to  enter 
in  triumph  into  your  emancipated  country, — you 
suddenly  forget  your  noble  purpose  and  fall  asleep 
in  the  arms  of  the  daughters  of  men.  What  pleasure 
can  you  find  in  intercourse  with  these  unclean  little 
animals,  composed,  as  they  are,  of  elements  so 
unstable  that  they  may  be  said  to  be  in  a  state  of 
constant  evanescence  ?  O  Arcade  !  I  was  indeed 
right  to  distrust  you.  You  are  but  an  intellectual ; 
you  do  but  feel  idle  curiosity.  You  are  incapable 
of  action." 

"  You  misjudge  me,  Zita,"  replied  the  angel. 
"  It  is  the  nature  of  the  sons  of  heaven  to  love  the 
daughters  of  men.  Corruptible  though  it  be, 
the  material  part  of  women  and  of  flowers  charms 
the  senses  none  the  less.  But  not  one  of  these 
little  animals  can  make  me  forget  my  hatred  and 
my  love,  and  I  am  ready  to  rise  up  against  lalda- 
baoth." 

Zita  expressed  her  satisfaction  at  seeing  him  in 
this  resolute  mood.  She  urged  him  to  pursue  the 
accomplishment  of  this  vast  undertaking  with 
undiminished  ardour.  Nothing  must  be  hurried 
or  deferred. 

"  A  great  action,  Arcade,  is  made  up  of  a  multi- 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE   ANGELS     313 

tude  of  small  ones ;  the  most  majestic  whole  is 
composed  of  a  thousand  minute  details.  Let  us 
neglect  nothing." 

She  had  come  to  take  him  to  a  meeting  where 
his  presence  was  required.  They  were  to  take  a 
census  of  the  revolutionaries. 

She  added  but  one  word : 

"  Nectaire  will  be  there." 

When  Maurice  saw  Zita,  he  deemed  her  lacking 
in  attraction.  She  failed  to  please  him  because 
she  was  perfectly  beautiful  and  because  true 
beauty  always  caused  him  painful  surprise.  Zita 
inspired  him  with  antipathy  when  he  learned  that 
she  was  an  angel  in  revolt  and  that  she  had  come 
to  seek  Arcade  to  take  him  away  among  the  con- 
spirators. 

The  poor  child  tried  to  retain  his  companion 
by  all  the  means  that  his  wit  and  the  circumstances 
afforded  him.  If  his  guardian  angel  would  only 
remain  with  him,  he  would  take  him  to  a  magnificent 
boxing-match,  to  a  "  revue "  where  he  would 
witness  the  apotheosis  of  Poincare,  or,  lastly,  to  a 
certain  house  he  knew  of  where  he  would  behold 
women  remarkable  for  their  beauty,  talents,  vices, 
or  deformities.  But  the  angel  would  not  allow 
himself  to  be  tempted,  and  said  he  was  going  with 
Zita. 

"  What  for  ?  " 


314    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

"  To  plot  the  conquest  of  the  skies." 

"  Still  the  same  nonsense  !  The  conquest  of 

but  there,  I  proved  to  you  that  it  was 

neither  possible  nor  desirable." 

"  Good  night,  Maurice." 

"  You  are  going  ?  Well,  I  will  accompany 
you." 

And  Maurice,  his  arm  in  a  sling,  went  with 
Arcade  and  Zita  all  the  way  to  Clodomir's  restaurant 
at  Montmartre,  where  the  tables  were  laid  in  an 
arbour  in  the  garden. 

Prince  Istar  and  Theophile  were  already  there, 
with  a  little  creature  who  looked  like  a  child,  and 
was,  in  fact,  a  Japanese  angel. 

"  We  are  only  waiting  for  Nectaire,"  said 
Zita. 

And  at  that  moment  the  old  gardener  noiselessly 
appeared.  He  took  his  seat,  and  his  dog  lay  down 
at  his  feet.  French  cooking  is  the  best  in  the 
world.  It  is  a  glory  that  will  transcend  all  others 
when  humanity  has  grown  wise  enough  to  put  the 
spit  above  the  sword.  Clodomir  served  the  angels, 
and  the  mortal  who  was  with  them,  with  a  soup 
made  of  cabbages  and  bacon,  a  loin  of  pork  and 
kidneys  cooked  in  wine,  thereby  proving  himself 
a  real  Montmartre  cook,  and  showing  that  he  had 
not  been  spoilt  by  the  Americans,  who  corrupt  the 
most  excellent  chefs  of  the  City  of  Restaurants. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     315 

Clodomir  brought  forth  some  Bordeaux,  which, 
though  unrecorded  among  the  renowned  vintages 
of  Medoc,  gave  evidence  by  its  choice  and  delicate 
aroma  of  the  high  nobility  of  its  origin.  We  must 
not  omit  to  chronicle  that,  after  this  wine  and 
many  others  had  been  drunk,  the  cellarman,  in 
solemn  state,  produced  a  Burgundy  choice  and 
rare,  full-bodied  yet  not  heavy,  generous  yet 
delicate,  rich  with  the  true  Burgundian  mellow- 
ness, a  noble  and,  withal,  a  somewhat  heady  wine, 
that  brought  delight  alike  to  mind  and  sense. 

"  Hail  to  thee,  Dionysus,  greatest  of  the  Gods  !  " 
cried  old  Nectaire,  raising  his  glass  on  high.  "  I 
drink  to  thee  who  wilt  restore  the  Golden  Age, 
and  give  again  to  mortal  men,  who  will  become 
heroes  as  of  old,  the  grapes  which  the  Lesbians 
used  to  cull,  long  since,  from  the  vines  of  Methymna; 
who  wilt  restore  the  vineyards  of  Thasus,  the 
white  clusters  of  Lake  Mareotis,  the  storehouses 
of  Falernus,  the  vines  of  the  Tmolus,  and  the  wine 
of  Phanae,  of  all  wines  the  king.  And  the  juice 
thereof  shall  be  divine,  and,  as  in  old  Silenus'  day, 
men  shall  grow  drunk  with  Wisdom  and  with 
Love." 

When  the  coffee  was  served,  Prince  Istar,  Zita, 
Arcade  and  the  Japanese  angel  took  it  in  turns  to 
give  an  account  of  the  forces  assembled  against 
laldabaoth.  Angels,  in  exchanging  eternal  bliss 


3i6    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

for  the  sufferings  of  an  earthly  life,  grow  in  in- 
telligence, acquire  the  means  of  going  astray  and 
the  faculty  of  self-contradiction.  Consequently 
their  meetings,  like  those  of  men,  are  tumultuous 
and  confused.  Did  one  of  them  deal  in  figures, 
the  others  immediately  called  them  in  question. 
They  could  not  add  one  number  to  another  without 
quarrelling,  and  arithmetic  itself,  subjected  to 
passion,  lost  its  certitude.  The  Kerub  who  had 
brought  with  him  the  pious  Theophile,  waxed 
indignant  when  he  heard  the  musician  praising 
the  Lord,  and  rained  down  such  blows  on  his 
head  as  would  have  felled  an  ox.  But  the  head  of 
a  musician  is  harder  than  a  bucranium,  and  the 
blows  which  Theophile  received  did  not  avail  to 
modify  that  angel's  notion  of  divine  providence. 
Arcade,  having  at  great  length  set  up  his  scientific 
idealism  in  opposition  to  Zita's  pragmatism,  the 
beautiful  archangel  told  him  that  he  argued 
badly. 

"  And  you  are  surprised  at  that !  "  exclaimed 
young  Maurice's  guardian  angel.  "  I  argue,  like 
you,  in  the  language  of  human  beings.  And  what 
is  human  language  but  the  cry  of  the  beasts  of  the 
forests  or  the  mountains,  complicated  and  cor- 
rupted by  arrogant  anthropoids.  How  then, 
Zita,  can  one  be  expected  to  argue  well  with  a 
collection  of  angry  or  plaintive  sounds  like  that  ? 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     317 

Angels  do  not  reason  at  all ;  men,  being  superior 
to  the  angels,  reason  imperfectly.  I  will  not 
mention  the  professors  who  think  to  define  the 
absolute  with  the  aid  of  cries  that  they  have  in- 
herited from  the  pithecanthropoid  monkeys,  mar- 
supials, and  reptiles,  their  ancestors !  It  is  a 
colossal  joke  !  How  it  would  amuse  the  demiurge, 
if  he  had  any  brains !  " 

It  was  a  beautiful  starlight  night.  The  gardener 
was  silent. 

"  Nectaire,"  said  the  beautiful  archangel,  "  play 
to  us  on  your  flute,  if  you  are  not  afraid  that  the 
Earth  and  Heaven  will  be  stirred  to  their  depths 
thereby." 

Nectaire  took  up  his  flute.  Young  Maurice 
lighted  a  cigarette.  The  flame  burnt  brightly 
for  a  moment,  casting  back  the  sky  and  its  stars 
into  the  shadows,  and  then  died  out.  And  Nectaire 
sang  of  this  flame  on  his  divine  flute.  The  silvery 
voice  soared  aloft  and  sang : 

"  That  flame  was  a  whole  universe  which  fulfilled 
its  destiny  in  less  than  a  minute.  Suns  and  planets 
were  formed  therein.  Venus  Urania  apportioned 
the  orbits  of  the  wandering  spheres  in  those  infinite 
spaces.  Beneath  the  breath  of  Eros — the  first  of 
the  gods, — plants,  animals  and  thoughts  sprang 
into  being.  In  the  twenty  seconds  which  hurried 
by  betwixt  the  life  and  death  of  those  worlds, 


3i 8    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

civilizations  were  unfolded,  and  empires  sank  in 
long  decline.  Mothers  shed  tears ;  and  songs  of 
love,  cries  of  hatred  and  sighs  of  victims,  rose 
upward  to  the  silent  skies. 

"  In  proportion  to  its  minuteness,  that  universe 
lasted  as  long  as  this  one — whereof  we  see  a  few 
atoms  glittering  above  our  heads — has  lasted  or  will 
last.  They  are,  one  no  less  than  the  other,  but  a 
gleam  in  the  Infinite." 

As  the  clear,  pure  notes  welled  up  into  the 
charmed  air,  the  earth  melted  into  a  soft  mist, 
the  stars  revolved  rapidly  in  their  orbits,  the 
Great  Bear  fell  asunder,  its  parts  flew  far  and 
wide.  Orion's  belt  was  shattered ;  the  Pole  Star 
forsook  its  magnetic  axis.  Sirius,  whose  incan- 
descent flame  had  lit  up  the  far  horizon,  grew  blue, 
then  red,  flickered,  and  suddenly  died  out.  The 
shaken  constellations  formed  new  signs  which 
were  extinguished  in  their  turn.  By  its  incantations 
the  magic  flute  had  compressed  into  one  brief 
moment  the  life  and  the  movement  of  this  universe 
which  seems  unchanging  and  eternal  both  to  men 
and  angels.  It  ceased,  and  the  heavens  resumed 
their  immemorial  aspect.  Nectaire  had  vanished. 
Clodomir  asked  his  guests  if  they  were  pleased 
with  the  cabbage  soup  which,  in  order  that  it 
might  be  strong,  had  been  kept  simmering  for 
twenty-four  hours  on  the  fire,  and  he  sang 


the   praises    of    the    Beaujolais   which    they    had 
drunk. 

The  night  was  mild.  Arcade,  accompanied  by 
his  guardian  angel,  Theophile,  Prince  Istar  and 
the  Japanese  angel,  escorted  Zita  home. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 


HOW     A     DREADFUL     CRIME     PLUNGES     PARIS     INTO     A 
STATE    OF    TERROR 

HE  city  was  asleep.  Their  footsteps 
rang  loudly  on  the  deserted  pave- 
ment. Having  reached  the  corner 
of  the  Rue  Feutrier,  half-way  up 
Montmartre,  the  little  company 
halted  before  the  dwelling  of  the  beautiful  angel. 
Arcade  was  talking  about  the  Thrones  and  Domi- 
nations with  Zita,  who,  her  finger  on  the  bell, 
could  not  make  up  her  mind  to  ring.  Prince 
Istar  was  tracing  the  mechanism  of  a  new  sort  of 
bomb  on  the  pavement  with  the  end  of  his  stick,  and 
bellowed  so  loudly  that  he  woke  the  sleeping 
citizens  and  stirred  into  activity  the  amatory 
passions  of  the  neighbouring  Pasiphafis.  Theophile 
was  singing  the  barcarolle  from  the  second  act  of 
Aline,  Queen  of  Golconda  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 
Maurice,  his  arm  in  a  sling,  was  fencing  left-handed 
with  the  Japanese,  striking  sparks  from  the  pave- 


ment, and  crying 
voice. 


A  hit !  a  hit ! "  in  a  piercing 


320 


THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     321 

Meanwhile  Inspector  Grolle  at  the  corner  of 
the  next  street  was  dreaming.  He  had  the  bearing 
of  a  Roman  legionary  and  displayed  all  the  charac- 
teristics of  that  proudly  servile  race,  who,  ever 
since  men  first  took  to  building  cities,  have  been 
the  mainstay  of  Empires  and  the  support  of  ruling- 
houses.  Inspector  Grolle  was  very  strong,  but 
very  tired.  He  suffered  from  an  arduous  profession, 
and  from  lack  of  food.  He  was  a  man  devoted  to 
duty,  but  still  a  man,  and  he  was  unable  to  resist 
the  wiles,  the  charms  and  the  blandishments  of 
the  gay  ladies  whom  he  met  in  swarms  in  the 
shadows  along  the  empty  streets  and  round  about 
pieces  of  waste  ground ;  he  loved  them.  He 
loved  like  a  soldier  under  arms.  It  tired  him, 
but  courage  conquered  fatigue.  Though  he  had 
not  yet  reached  the  middle  of  Life's  way,  he 
longed  for  sweet  repose  and  peaceful  country 
pursuits.  At  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Muller,  on 
this  mild  night,  he  stood  lost  in  thought.  He 
was  dreaming  of  the  house  where  he  was  born, 
of  the  little  olive  wood,  of  his  father's  bit  of  ground, 
of  his  old  mother,  bent  with  long  and  heavy  labour, 
whom  he  would  never  see  again.  Roused  from 
his  reverie  by  the  nocturnal  tumult,  Inspector 
Grolle  turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  and  looked 
rather  unfavourably  at  the  band  of  loiterers, 
wherein  his  social  instinct  suspected  enemies  of 


322    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

law  and  order.  He  was  patient  and  resolute. 
After  a  lengthy  silence,  he  said,  with  awe-inspiring 
calm : 

"  Move  on,  there  !  " 

But  Maurice  and  the  Japanese  angel  were  fencing 
and  heard  nothing.  The  musician  heard  nothing 
but  his  own  melodies.  Prince  Istar  was  absorbed 
in  the  explanation  of  explosive  formulae.  Zita 
was  discussing  with  Arcade  the  greatest  enterprise 
that  had  ever  been  conceived  since  the  solar  system 
issued  from  its  original  nebula, — and  thus  they  all 
remained  unconscious  of  their  surroundings. 

"  Move  on,  I  tell  you ! "  repeated  Inspector 
Grolle. 

This  time  the  angels  heard  the  solemn  word  of 
warning,  but  either  through  indifference  or  con- 
tempt, they  neglected  to  obey,  and  continued  their 
talk,  their  songs  and  their  cries. 

"  So  you  want  to  be  taken  up,  do  you  ? "  shouted 
Inspector  Grolle,  clapping  his  great  hand  on  Prince 
Istar's  shoulder. 

The  Kerub  was  indignant  at  this  vile  contact, 
and  with  one  blow  from  his  formidable  fist  sent 
the  Inspector  flying  into  the  gutter.  But  Constable 
Fesandet  was  already  running  to  his  comrade's 
aid,  and  they  both  fell  upon  the  Prince,  whom 
they  belaboured  with  mechanic  fury,  and  whom, 
notwithstanding  his  strength  and  weight,  they 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    323 

would  perchance  have  dragged  all  bleeding  to  the 
police-station,  had  not  the  Japanese  angel  overset 
them  one  after  the  other  without  effort,  and 
reduced  them  to  writhing  and  shrieking  in  the 
mud,  before  Maurice,  Arcade  and  Zita  had  time 
to  intervene.  As  to  the  angelic  musician,  he  stood 
apart  trembling,  and  invoked  the  heavens. 

At  this  moment  two  bakers  who  were  kneading 
their  dough  in  a  neighbouring  cellar  ran  out  at  the 
noise,  in  their  white  aprons,  stripped  to  the  waist. 
With  an  instinctive  feeling  for  social  solidarity 
they  took  the  side  of  the  downfallen  police.  Theo- 
phile  conceived  a  just  fear  at  the  sight  of  them, 
and  fled  away ;  they  caught  him  and  were  about 
to  hand  him  over  to  the  guardians  of  the  peace, 
when  Arcade  and  Zita  tore  him  from  their  hands. 
The  fight  continued,  unequal  and  terrible,  between 
the  two  angels  and  the  two  bakers.  Like  an 
athlete  of  Lysippus  in  strength  and  beauty,  Arcade 
smothered  his  heavy  adversary  in  his  arms.  The 
beautiful  archangel  drove  her  dagger  into  the 
baker  who  had  attacked  her.  A  dark  stream  of 
blood  flowed  down  over  his  hairy  chest,  and  the 
two  white-capped  supporters  of  the  law  sank  to 
the  ground. 

Constable  Fesandet  had  fainted  face  downwards 
in  the  gutter.  But  Inspector  Grolle,  who  had  got 
up,  blew  a  blast  on  his  whistle  loud  enough  to 


324    THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

be  heard  at  the  neighbouring  police-station,  and 
sprang  upon  young  Maurice,  who,  having  but 
one  arm  with  which  to  defend  himself,  fired  his 
revolver  with  his  left  hand  at  the  inspector,  who 
put  his  hand  to  his  heart,  staggered  and  dropped 
down.  He  gave  a  long  sigh,  and  the  shadows  of 
eternity  darkened  his  eyes. 

Meanwhile,  windows  opened  one  by  one,  and 
heads  looked  out  on  the  street.  A  sound  of  heavy 
steps  approached.  Two  policemen  on  bicycles 
debouched  upon  the  street.  Thereupon  Prince 
Istar  flung  a  bomb  which  shook  the  ground,  put 
out  the  gas,  shattered  some  of  the  houses,  and 
enveloped  the  flight  of  young  Maurice  and  the 
angels  in  a  dense  smoke. 

Arcade  and  Maurice  came  to  the  conclusion 
that  the  safest  thing  to  do  after  this  adventure 
was  to  return  to  the  little  flat  in  the  Rue  de  Rome. 
They  would  certainly  not  be  sought  for  immediately 
and  probably  not  at  all,  the  bomb  thrown  by  the 
Kerub  having  fortunately  wiped  out  all  witnesses 
of  the  affair.  They  fell  asleep  towards  dawn, 
and  they  had  not  yet  awoke  at  ten  o'clock  in  the 
morning  when  the  concierge  brought  their  tea. 
While  eating  his  toast  and  butter  and  slice  of  ham, 
young  d'Esparvieu  remarked  to  the  angel : 

"  I  used  to  think  that  a  murder  was  something 
very  extraordinary.  Well,  I  was  mistaken.  It  is 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     325 

the  simplest,  the  most  natural  action  in  the 
world." 

"  And  of  most  ancient  tradition,"  replied  the 
angel.  "  For  long  centuries  it  was  both  usual  and 
necessary  for  man  to  kill  and  despoil  his  fellows. 
It  is  still  recommended  in  warfare.  It  is  also 
honourable  to  attempt  human  life  in  certain 
definite  circumstances,  and  people  approved  when 
you  wanted  to  assassinate  me,  Maurice,  because 
it  appeared  to  you  that  I  had  been  intimate  with 
your  mistress.  But  killing  a  police-inspector  is 
not  the  action  of  a  man  of  fashion." 

"  Be  silent,"  exclaimed  Maurice,  "  be  silent, 
scoundrel !  I  killed  the  poor  Inspector  instinctively, 
not  knowing  what  I  was  doing.  I  am  grieved  to 
my  heart  about  it.  But  it  is  not  I,  it  is  you  who 
are  the  guilty  one;  you  who  are  the  murderer. 
It  was  you  who  lured  me  along  this  path  of  revolt 
and  violence  which  leads  to  the  pit.  You  have 
been  my  undoing.  You  have  sacrificed  my  peace 
of  mind,  my  happiness,  to  your  pride  and  your 
wickedness,  and  all  in  vain  ;  for  I  warn  you, 
Arcade,  you  will  not  succeed  in  what  you  are 
undertaking." 

The  concierge  brought  in  the  newspapers.  On 
seeing  them  Maurice  grew  pale.  They  announced 
the  outrage  in  the  Rue  de  Ramey  in  huge  head- 
lines : 


326    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

"An  Inspector  killed  —  Two  cyclist  policemen 
and  two  bakers  seriously  wounded — Three  houses 
blown  up,  numerous  victims." 

Maurice  let  the  paper  drop,  and  said  in  a  weak, 
plaintive  voice : 

"  Arcade,  why  did  you  not  slay  me  in  the  little 
garden  at  Versailles  amidst  the  roses,  to  the  song 
of  the  blackbirds  ?  " 

Meanwhile  terror  reigned  in  Paris.  In  the 
public  squares,  and  in  the  crowded  streets,  house- 
wives, string-bag  in  hand,  grew  pale  as  they  listened 
to  the  story  of  the  crime,  and  consigned  the  perpe- 
trators to  the  most  dreadful  punishment.  Shop- 
keepers, standing  at  the  doors  of  their  shops, 
put  it  all  down  to  the  anarchists,  syndicalists, 
socialists  and  radicals,  and  demanded  that  special 
measures  should  be  taken  against  them. 

The  more  thoughtful  people  recognised  the 
handiwork  of  the  Jew  and  the  German,  and  de- 
manded the  expulsion  of  all  aliens.  Many  vaunted 
the  ways  of  America  and  advocated  lynching. 
In  addition  to  the  printed  news  sinister  rumours 
became  current.  Explosions  had  been  heard  at 
various  places ;  everywhere  bombs  had  been 
discovered ;  everywhere  individuals,  taken  for 
malefactors,  had  been  struck  down  by  the  popular 
arm  and  given  up  to  justice,  torn  to  ribbons. 
On  the  Place  de  la  Republique  a  drunkard  who 


THE  REVOLT   OF  THE   ANGELS     327 

was  crying  "  Down  with  the  police,"  was  torn  to 
pieces  by  the  crowd. 

The  President  of  the  Council  and  Minister  of 
Justice  held  long  conferences  with  the  Prefect 
of  Police,  and  they  agreed  to  take  immediate 
action.  In  order  to  allay  the  excitement  of  the 
Parisians,  they  arrested  five  or  six  hooligans  out  of 
the  thirty  thousand  which  the  Capital  contains. 
The  chief  of  the  Russian  police,  believing  he 
recognised  in  this  attack  the  methods  of  the  Nihilists, 
demanded,  on  behalf  of  his  Government,  that  a 
dozen  refugees  should  be  given  up.  The  demand 
was  immediately  granted.  Proceedings  were  also 
taken  for  certain  individuals  to  be  extradited  to 
ensure  the  safety  of  the  King  of  Spain. 

On  learning  of  these  energetic  measures,  Paris 
breathed  once  more,  and  the  evening  papers 
congratulated  the  Government.  There  was  ex- 
cellent news  of  the  wounded.  They  were  out  of 
danger  and  identified  as  their  assailants  all  who 
were  brought  before  them. 

True,  Inspector  Grolle  was  dead ;  but  two 
Sisters  of  Mercy  kept  vigil  at  his  side,  and  the 
President  of  the  Council  came  and  laid  the  Cross 
of  Honour  on  the  breast  of  this  victim  of  duty. 

At  night  there  were  panics.  In  the  Avenue  de  la 
Revoke  the  police,  noticing  a  travelling  acrobat's 
caravan  on  a  piece  of  waste  ground,  took  it  for  the 


328     THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

retreat  of  a  band  of  robbers.  They  whistled 
for  help,  and  when  they  were  a  goodly  number, 
attacked  the  caravan.  Some  worthy  citizens  joined 
them;  fifteen  thousand  revolver-shots  were  fired, 
the  caravan  was  blown  up  with  dynamite,  and 
among  the  debris  they  found  the  corpse  of  a  monkey. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

WHICH  CONTAINS  AN  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  ARREST  OF 
BOUCHOTTE  AND  MAURICE,  OF  THE  DISASTER 
WHICH  BEFELL  THE  DJESPARVIEU  LIBRARY,  AND 
OF  THE  DEPARTURE  OF  THE  ANGELS 

AURICE  D'ESPARVIEU  passed  a 
terrible  night.  At  the  least  sound 
he  seized  his  revolver  that  he 
might  not  fall  alive  into  the  hands 
of  justice.  When  morning  came 
he  snatched  the  newspapers  from  the  hands  of  the 
concierge,  devoured  them  greedily  and  gave  a 
cry  of  joy  ;  he  had  just  read  that  Inspector  Grolle 
having  been  taken  to  the  Morgue  for  the  post- 
mortem, the  police-surgeons  had  only  discovered 
bruises  and  contusions  of  a  very  superficial  nature, 
and  stated  that  death  had  been  brought  about  by 
the  rupture  of  an  aneurism  of  the  aorta. 

"  You  see,  Arcade,"  he  exclaimed  triumphantly  ; 
"  you  see  I  am  not  an  assassin.  I  am  innocent. 
I  could  never  have  imagined  how  extremely  agree- 
able it  is  to  be  innocent." 

329 


330    THE  REVOLT  OF   THE  ANGELS 

Then  he  grew  thoughtful,  and — no  unusual 
phenomenon — reflection  dissipated  his  gaiety. 

"  I  am  innocent, — but  there  is  no  disguising  the 
fact,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head,  "  I  am  one  of  a 
band  of  malefactors.  I  live  with  miscreants. 
You  are  in  your  right  place  there,  Arcade,  for 
you  are  deceitful,  cruel  and  perverse.  But  I  come 
of  good  family  and  have  received  an  excellent 
education,  and  I  blush  for  it." 

"  I  also,"  said  Arcade,  "  have  received  an  ex- 
cellent education." 

"  Where  was  that  ?  " 

"  In  Heaven." 

"  No,  Arcade,  no  ;  you  never  had  any  education. 
If  good  principles  had  been  inculcated  into  you, 
you  would  still  hold  them.  Such  principles  are 
never  lost.  In  my  childhood  I  learnt  to  revere 
my  family,  my  country,  my  religion.  I  have  not 
forgotten  the  lesson  and  I  never  shall.  Do  you 
know  what  shocks  me  most  in  you  ?  It  is  not 
your  perversity,  your  cruelty,  your  black  ingratitude ; 
it  is  not  your  agnosticism,  which  may  be  borne 
with  at  a  pinch ;  it  is  not  your  scepticism,  though 
it  is  very  much  out  of  date  (for  since  the  national 
awakening  there  is  no  longer  any  scepticism  in 
France) ; — no,  what  disgusts  me  in  you  is  your 
lack  of  taste,  the  bad  style  of  your  ideas,  the  in- 
elegance of  your  doctrines.  You  think  like  an 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE   ANGELS     331 

intellectual,  you  speak  like  a  freethinker,  you  have 
theories  which  reek  of  radicalism,  and  Combeism 
and  all  ignoble  systems.  Get  along  with  you  !  you 
disgust  me.  Arcade,  my  old  friend,  Arcade,  my 
dear  angel,  Arcade,  my  beloved  child,  listen  to 
your  guardian  angel !  Yield  to  my  prayers,  re- 
nounce your  mad  ideas ;  become  good,  simple, 
innocent  and  happy  once  more.  Put  on  your  hat, 
come  with  me  to  Notre-Dame.  We  will  say  a 
prayer  and  burn  a  candle  together." 

Meanwhile  public  opinion  was  still  active  in  the 
matter ;  the  leading  papers,  the  organs  of  the 
national  awakening,  in  articles  of  real  elevation 
and  real  depth,  unravelled  the  philosophy  of  this 
monstrous  attack  which  was  revolting  to  the 
conscience.  They  discovered  the  real  origin,  the 
indirect  but  effective  cause  in  the  revolutionary 
doctrines  which  had  been  disseminated  unchecked, 
in  the  weakening  of  social  ties,  the  relaxing  of 
moral  discipline,  in  the  repeated  appeals  to  every 
appetite,  to  every  greedy  desire.  It  would  be 
needful,  so  as  to  cut  down  the  evil  at  its  root, 
to  repudiate  as  quickly  as  possible  all  such  chimeras 
and  Utopias  as  syndicalism,  the  income-tax,  etc., 
etc.,  etc.  Many  newspapers,  and  these  not  the 
least  important,  pointed  out  that  the  recrudescence 
of  crime  was  but  the  natural  fruit  of  impiety, 
and  concluded  that  the  salvation  of  society  lay 


332    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

in  an  unanimous  and  sincere  return  to  religion. 
On  the  Sunday  which  followed  the  crime  the 
congregations  in  the  churches  were  noticed  to  be 
unusually  large. 

Judge  Salneuve,  who  was  entrusted  with  the 
task  of  investigation,  first  examined  the  persons 
arrested  by  the  police,  and  lost  his  way  among 
attractive  but  illusory  clues ;  however,  the  report 
of  the  detective  Montremain,  which  was  laid 
before  him,  put  him  on  the  right  road,  and  soon 
led  him  to  recognise  the  miscreants  of  La  Jonchere 
as  the  authors  of  the  crime  of  the  Rue  de  Ramey. 
He  ordered  a  search  to  be  made  for  Arcade  and 
Zita,  and  issued  a  warrant  against  Prince  Istar, 
on  whom  two  detectives  laid  hands  as  he  was 
leaving  Bouchotte's,  where  he  had  been  depositing 
some  bombs  of  new  design.  The  Kerub,  on 
learning  the  detectives'  intentions,  smiled  broadly 
and  asked  them  if  they  had  a  powerful  motor-car. 
On  their  replying  that  they  had  one  at  the  door, 
he  assured  them  that  was  all  he  wanted.  There- 
upon he  felled  the  two  detectives  on  the  stairs, 
walked  up  to  the  waiting  car,  flung  the  chauffeur 
under  a  motor-'bus  which  was  opportunely  passing, 
and  seized  the  steering  wheel  under  the  eyes  of 
the  terrified  crowd. 

That  same  evening  Monsieur  Jeancourt,  the 
Police  Magistrate,  entered  TheophuVs  rooms  just 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS      333 

when  Bouchotte  was  swallowing  a  raw  egg  to 
clear  her  voice,  for  she  was  to  sing  her  new  song, 
'  They  haven't  got  any  in  Germany,"  at  the 
"  National  Eldorado  "  that  evening.  The  musician 
was  absent.  Bouchotte  received  the  Magistrate, 
and  received  him  with  a  hauteur  which  intensified 
the  simplicity  of  her  attire  ;  Bouchotte  was  en  des- 
habille. The  worthy  Magistrate  seized  the  score 
of  Aline,  Queen  of  Golconda,  and  the  love-letters 
which  the  singer  carefully  preserved  in  the  drawer 
of  the  table  by  her  bed,  for  she  was  an  orderly 
young  woman.  He  was  about  to  withdraw  when 
he  espied  a  cupboard,  which  he  opened  with  a 
careless  air,  and  found  machines  capable  of  blowing 
up  half  Paris,  and  a  pair  of  large  white  wings, 
whose  nature  and  use  appeared  inexplicable  to 
him.  Bouchotte  was  invited  to  complete  her 
toilette,  and,  in  spite  of  her  cries,  was  taken  off 
to  the  police-station. 

Monsieur  Salneuve  was  indefatigable.  After 
the  examination  of  the  papers  seized  in  Bouchotte's 
house,  and  acting  on  the  information  of  Montre- 
main,  he  issued  a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  young 
d'Esparvieu,  which  was  executed  on  Wednesday, 
the  ayth  May,  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
with  great  discretion.  For  three  days  Maurice 
had  neither  slept  nor  eaten,  loved  nor  lived. 
He  had  not  a  moment's  doubt  as  to  the  nature  of 


334    THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

the  matutinal  visit.  At  the  sight  of  the  police 
magistrate  a  strange  calm  fell  on  him.  Arcade 
had  not  returned  to  sleep  in  the  flat.  Maurice 
begged  the  magistrate  to  wait  for  him,  and  made 
a  careful  toilet,  then  he  accompanied  the  magistrate 
to  the  taxi  that  was  waiting  at  the  door.  He  felt 
a  calmness  of  mind  which  was  barely  disturbed  when 
the  door  of  the  Conciergerie  closed  on  him.  Alone 
in  his  cell,  he  climbed  upon  the  table  to  look  out. 
His  tranquillity  was  due  to  his  weariness  of  spirit, 
to  his  numbed  senses,  and  to  the  fact  that  he  no 
longer  stood  in  fear  of  arrest.  His  misfortune 
endowed  him  with  superior  wisdom.  He  felt 
he  had  fallen  into  a  state  of  grace.  He  did  not 
think  too  highly  or  too  humbly  of  himself,  but 
left  his  cause  in  the  hands  of  God.  With  no  desire 
to  cover  up  his  faults,  which  he  would  not  hide 
even  from  himself,  he  addressed  himself  in  mind 
to  Providence,  to  point  out  that  if  he  had  fallen 
into  disorder  and  rebellion  it  was  to  lead  his  erring 
angel  back  into  the  straight  path.  He  stretched 
himself  on  his  couch  and  slept  in  peace. 

On  hearing  of  the  arrest  of  a  music-hall  singer 
and  of  a  young  man  of  fashion,  both  Paris  and  the 
provinces  felt  painful  surprise.  Deeply  stirred 
by  the  tragic  accounts  which  the  leading  news- 
papers were  bringing  out,  the  general  idea  was 
that  the  sort  of  people  the  authorities  ought  to 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     335 

bring  to  justice  were  ferocious  anarchists,  all 
reeking  and  dripping  from  deeds  of  blood  and 
arson  ;  but  they  failed  to  understand  what  the 
world  of  Art  and  Fashion  should  have  to  do  with 
such  things.  At  this  news,  which  he  was  one  of 
the  last  to  hear,  the  President  of  the  Council 
and  Keeper  of  the  Seals  started  up  in  his  chair. 
The  Sphinxes  that  adorned  it  were  less  terrible 
than  he,  and  in  the  throes  of  his  angry  meditation 
he  cut  the  mahogany  of  his  imperial  table  with  his 
penknife,  after  the  manner  of  Napoleon.  And 
when  Judge  Salneuve,  whose  attendance  he  had 
commanded,  appeared  before  him,  the  President 
flung  his  penknife  in  the  grate,  as  Louis  XIV 
flung  his  cane  out  of  the  window  in  the  presence 
of  Lauzun ;  and  it  cost  him  a  supreme  effort  to 
master  himself  and  to  say  in  a  voice  of  suppressed 
fury : 

"  Are  you  mad  ?  Surely  I  said  often  enough 
that  I  meant  the  plot  to  be  anarchist,  anti-social, 
fundamentally  anti-social  and  anti-governmental, 
with  a  shade  of  syndicalism.  I  have  made  it  clear 
enough  that  I  wanted  it  kept  within  these  lines ; 
and  what  do  you  go  and  make  of  it  ?  ...  The 
vengeance  of  anarchists  and  aspirants  to  freedom  ? 
Whom  do  you  arrest  ?  A  singer  adored  of  the 
nationalist  public,  and  the  son  of  a  man  highly 
esteemed  in  the  Catholic  party,  who  receives  our 


336     THE   REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

bishops  and  has  the  entree  to  the  Vatican  ;  a  man 
who  may  be  one  day  sent  as  ambassador  to  the 
Pope.  At  one  blow  you  alienate  one  hundred  and 
sixty  Deputies  and  forty  Senators  of  the  Right, 
on  the  very  eve  of  a  motion  to  discuss  the  question 
of  religious  pacification;  you  embroil  me  with  my 
friends  of  to-day,  with  my  friends  of  to-morrow. 
Was  it  to  find  out  if  you  were  in  the  same  dilemma 
as  des  Aubels  that  you  seized  the  love-letters  of 
young  Maurice  d'Esparvieu  ?  I  can  put  your 
mind  at  rest  on  that  point.  You  are,  and  all  Paris 
knows  it.  But  it  is  not  to  avenge  your  personal 
affronts  that  you  are  on  the  Bench." 

"  Monsieur  le  Garde  des  Sceaux,"  murmured 
the  Judge,  nearly. apoplectic  and  in  a  choked  voice, 
"  I  am  an  honest  man." 

"  You  are  a  fool  .  .  .  and  a  provincial.  Listen 
to  me ;  if  Maurice  d'Esparvieu  and  Mademoiselle 
Bouchotte  are  not  released  within  half  an  hour 
I  will  crush  you  like  a  piece  of  glass.  Be  off  !  " 

Monsieur  Rene  d'Esparvieu  went  himself  to 
fetch  his  son  from  the  Conciergerie,  and  took 
him  back  to  the  old  house  in  the  Rue  Garanciere. 
The  return  was  triumphant.  The  news  had  been 
disseminated  that  Maurice  had  with  generous 
imprudence  interested  himself  in  an  attempt  to 
restore  the  monarchy,  and  that  Judge  Salneuve, 
the  infamous  freemason,  the  tool  of  Combes  and 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     337 

Andre,  had  tried  to  compromise  the  young  man 
by  making  him  out  to  be  an  accomplice  of  a  band 
of  criminals. 

That  was  what  Abbe  Patouille  seemed  to  think, 
and  he  answered  for  Maurice  as  for  himself.  It 
was  known,  moreover,  that  breaking  with  his 
father,  who  had  rallied  to  the  support  of  the 
Republic,  young  d'Esparvieu  was  on  the  high 
road  to  becoming  an  out-and-out  Royalist.  The 
people  who  had  an  inside  knowledge  of  things 
saw  in  his  arrest  the  vengeance  of  the  Jews.  Was 
not  Maurice  a  notorious  anti-Semite  ?  Catholic 
youths  went  forth  to  hurl  imprecations  at  Judge 
Salneuve  under  the  windows  of  his  residence  in 
the  Rue  Guenegaud,  opposite  the  Mint. 

On  the  Boulevard  du  Palais  a  band  of  students 
presented  Maurice  with  a  branch  of  palm.  Maurice 
made  a  charming  reply. 

Maurice  was  overcome  with  emotion  when  he 
beheld  the  old  house  in  which  his  childhood  had 
been  spent,  and  fell  weeping  into  his  mother's 
arms. 

It  was  a  great  day,  unhappily  marred  by  one 
painful  incident.  Monsieur  Sariette,  who  had 
lost  his  reason  as  a  consequence  of  the  shocking 
events  that  had  taken  place  in  the  Rue  de  Courcelles, 
had  suddenly  become  violent.  He  had  shut  himself 
up  in  the  library,  and  there  he  had  remained  for 


338     THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

twenty-four  hours,  uttering  the  most  horrible 
cries,  and,  turning  a  deaf  ear  alike  to  threats  and 
entreaties,  refused  to  come  out.  He  had  spent  the 
night  in  a  condition  of  extreme  restlessness,  for  all 
night  long  the  lamp  had  been  seen  passing  rapidly 
to  and  fro  behind  the  curtains.  In  the  morning, 
hearing  Hippolyte  shouting  to  him  from  the 
court  below,  he  opened  the  window  of  the 
Hall  of  the  Spheres  and  the  Philosophers,  and 
heaved  two  or  three  rather  weighty  tomes  on  to 
the  old  valet's  head.  The  whole  of  the  domestic 
staff — men,  women,  and  boys — hurried  to  the 
spot,  and  the  librarian  proceeded  to  throw  out 
books  by  the  armful  on  to  their  heads.  In  view  of 
the  gravity  of  the  situation,  Monsieur  Rene  d'Espar- 
vieu  did  not  disdain  to  intervene.  He  appeared  in 
night-cap  and  dressing-gown,  and  attempted  to 
reason  with  the  poor  lunatic,  whose  only  reply 
was  to  pour  forth  torrents  of  abuse  on  the  man 
whom  till  then  he  had  worshipped  as  his  benefactor, 
and  to  endeavour  to  crush  him  beneath  all  the 
Bibles,  all  the  Talmuds,  all  the  sacred  books  of 
India  and  Persia,  all  the  Greek  Fathers,  and  all 
the  Latin  Fathers,  Saint  John  Chrysostom,  Saint 
Gregory  Nazianzen,  Saint  Augustine,  Saint  Jerome, 
all  the  apologists,  ay  !  and  under  the  Histoire  des 
Variations,  annotated  by  Bossuet  himself !  Octavos, 
quartos,  folios  came  crashing  down,  and  lay  in  a 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     339 

sordid  heap  on  the  courtyard  pavement.  The 
letters  of  Gassendi,  of  Pere  Mersenne,  of  Pascal, 
were  blown  about  hither  and  thither  by  the  wind. 
The  lady's-maid  who  had  stooped  down  to  rescue 
some  of  the  sheets  from  the  gutter  got  a  blow  on 
the  head  from  an  enormous  Dutch  atlas.  Madame 
Rene  d'Esparvieu  had  been  terrified  by  the  ominous 
sounds,  and  appeared  on  the  scene  without  waiting 
to  apply  the  finishing  touches  of  powder  and 
paint.  When  he  caught  sight  of  her,  old  Sariette 
became  more  violent  than  ever.  Down  they  came 
one  after  another  as  hard  as  he  could  pelt  them; 
the  busts  of  the  poets,  philosophers,  and  historians 
of  antiquity — Homer,  ^Eschylus,  Sophocles,  Euri- 
pides, Herodotus,  Thucydides,  Socrates,  Plato, 
Aristotle,  Demosthenes,  Cicero,  Virgil,  Horace, 
Seneca,  Epictetus — all  lay  scattered  on  the  ground. 
The  celestial  sphere  and  the  terrestrial  globe 
descended  with  a  terrifying  crash  that  was  followed 
by  a  ghastly  hush,  broken  only  by  the  shrill  laughter 
of  little  Leon,  who  was  looking  down  on  the  scene 
from  a  window  above.  A  locksmith  having  opened 
the  library  door,  all  the  household  hastened  to  enter, 
and  found  the  aged  Sariette  entrenched  behind 
piles  of  books,  busily  engaged  in  tearing  and  slashing 
away  at  the  Lucretius  of  the  Prior  de  Vendome 
annotated  in  Voltaire's  own  hand.  They  had  to 
force  a  way  through  the  barricade.  But  the 


340    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

maniac,  perceiving  that  his  stronghold  was  being 
invaded,  fled  away  and  escaped  on  to  the  roof.  For 
two  whole  hours  he  gave  vent  to  shouts  and  yells 
that  were  heard  far  and  wide.  In  the  Rue  Garan- 
ciere  the  crowd  kept  growing  bigger  and  bigger. 
All  had  their  eyes  fixed  on  the  unhappy  creature, 
and  whenever  he  stumbled  on  the  slates,  which 
cracked  beneath  him,  they  gave  a  shout  of  terror. 
In  the  midst  of  the  crowd,  the  Abbe  Patouille, 
who  expected  every  moment  to  see  him  hurled 
into  space,  was  reciting  the  prayers  for  the  dying, 
and  making  ready  to  give  him  the  absolution  in 
extremis.  There  was  a  cordon  of  police  round 
the  house  keeping  order.  Someone  summoned  the 
fire-brigade,  and  the  sound  of  their  approach  was 
soon  heard.  They  placed  a  ladder  against  the 
wall  of  the  house,  and  after  a  terrific  struggle 
managed  to  secure  the  maniac,  who  in  the  course 
of  his  desperate  resistance  had  one  of  the  muscles 
of  his  arm  torn  out.  He  was  immediately  removed 
to  an  asylum. 

Maurice  dined  at  home,  and  there  were  smiles  of 
tenderness  and  affection  when  Victor,  the  old 
butler,  brought  on  the  roast  veal.  Monsieur 
1'Abbe  Patouille  sat  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Christian 
mother,  unctuously  contemplating  the  family  which 
Heaven  had  so  plentifully  blessed.  Nevertheless, 
Madame  d'Esparvieu  was  ill  at  ease.  Every  day 


THE  REVOLT  OF   THE  ANGELS     341 

she  received  anonymous  letters  of  so  insulting  and 
coarse  a  nature  that  she  thought  at  first  they  must 
come  from  a  discharged  footman.  She  now  knew 
they  were  the  handiwork  of  her  youngest  daughter, 
Berthe,  a  mere  child  !  Little  Leon,  too,  gave  her 
pain  and  anxiety.  He  paid  no  attention  to  his 
lessons,  and  was  given  to  bad  habits.  He  showed 
a  cruel  disposition.  He  had  plucked  his  sister's 
canaries  alive ;  he  stuck  innumerable  pins  into 
the  chair  on  which  Mademoiselle  Caporal  was 
accustomed  to  sit,  and  had  stolen  fourteen  francs 
from  the  poor  girl,  who  did  nothing  but  cry  and 
dab  her  eyes  and  nose  from  morning  till  night. 

No  sooner  was  dinner  over  than  Maurice  rushed 
off  to  the  little  dwelling  in  the  Rue  de  Rome, 
impatient  to  meet  his  angel  again.  Through  the 
door  he  heard  a  loud  sound  of  voices,  and  saw 
assembled  in  the  room  where  the  apparition  had 
taken  place,  Arcade,  Zita,  the  angelic  musician, 
and  the  Kerub,  who  was  lying  on  the  bed,  smoking 
a  huge  pipe,  carelessly  scorching  pillows,  sheets, 
and  coverlet.  They  embraced  Maurice,  and 
announced  their  departure.  Their  faces  shone 
with  happiness  and  courage.  Alone,  the  inspired 
author  of  Aline,  Queen  of  Golconda  shed  tears  and 
raised  his  terrified  gaze  to  heaven.  The  Kerub 
forced  him  into  the  party  of  rebellion  by  setting 
before  him  two  alternatives  :  either  to  allow  himself 


342    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

to  be  dragged  from  prison  to  prison  on  earth,  or  to 
carry  fire  and  sword  into  the  palace  of  laldabaoth. 

Maurice  perceived  with  sorrow  that  the  earth 
had  scarcely  any  hold  over  them.  They  were 
setting  out  filled  with  immense  hope,  which  was 
quite  justifiable.  Doubtless  they  were  but  a  few 
combatants  to  oppose  the  innumerable  soldiers  of 
the  sultan  of  the  heavens ;  but  they  counted  on 
compensating  for  the  inferiority  of  their  numbers 
by  the  irresistible  impetus  of  a  sudden  attack. 
They  were  not  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  laldabaoth, 
who  flatters  himself  on  knowing  all  things,  some- 
times allows  himself  to  be  taken  by  surprise.  And 
it  certainly  looked  as  if  the  first  attack  would  have 
taken  him  unawares  had  it  not  been  for  the  warning 
of  the  archangel  Michael.  The  celestial  army 
had  made  no  progress  since  its  victory  over  the 
rebels  before  the  beginning  of  Time. 

As  regards  armaments  and  material  it  was  as 
out  of  date  as  the  army  of  the  Moors.  Its  generals 
slumbered  in  sloth  and  ignorance.  Loaded  with 
honours  and  riches,  they  preferred  the  delights 
of  the  banquet  to  the  fatigues  of  war.  Michael, 
the  commander-in-chief,  ever  loyal  and  brave, 
had  lost,  with  the  passing  of  centuries,  his  fire  and 
enthusiasm.  The  conspirators  of  1914,  on  the 
other  hand,  knew  the  very  latest  and  the  most 
delicate  appliances  of  science  for  the  art  of  destruc- 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     343 

tion.  At  length  all  was  ready  and  decided  upon. 
The  army  of  revolt,  assembled  by  corps,  each  a 
hundred  thousand  angels  strong,  on  all  the  waste 
places  of  the  earth — steppes,  pampas,  deserts, 
fields  of  ice  and  snow — was  ready  to  launch  itself 
against  the  sky.  The  angels,  in  modifying  the 
rhythm  of  the  atoms  of  which  they  are  composed,  are 
able  to  traverse  the  most  varied  mediums.  Spirits 
that  have  descended  on  to  the  earth,  being  formed, 
since  their  incarnation,  of  too  compact  a  substance, 
can  no  longer  fly  of  themselves,  and  to  rise  into 
ethereal  regions  and  then  insensibly  grow  volatilized, 
have  need  of  the  assistance  of  their  brothers,  who, 
though  revolutionaries  like  themselves,  nevertheless, 
stayed  behind  in  the  Empyrean  and  remained,  not 
immaterial  (for  all  is  matter  in  the  Universe),  but 
gloriously  untrammelled  and  diaphanous.  Certes, 
it  was  not  without  painful  anxiety  that  Arcade,  Istar, 
and  Zita  prepared  themselves  to  pass  from  the 
heavy  atmosphere  of  the  earth  to  the  limpid  depths 
of  the  heavens.  To  plunge  into  the  ether  there  is 
need  to  expend  such  energy  that  the  most  intrepid 
hesitate  to  take  flight.  Their  very  substance, 
while  penetrating  this  fine  medium,  must  in  itself 
grow  fine-spun,  become  vaporised,  and  pass  from 
human  dimensions  to  the  volume  of  the  vastest 
clouds  which  have  ever  enveloped  the  earth. 
Soon  they  would  surpass  in  grandeur  the  uttermost 


344    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE   ANGELS 

planets,  whose  orbits  they,  invisible  and  imponder- 
able, would  traverse  without  disturbing. 

In  this  enterprise — the  vastest  that  angels  could 
undertake — their  substance  would  be  ultimately- 
hotter  than  the  fire  and  colder  than  the  ice,  and 
they  would  suffer  pangs  sharper  than  death. 

Maurice  read  all  the  daring  and  the  pain  of  the 
undertaking  in  the  eyes  of  Arcade. 

"  You  are  going  ?  "  he  said  to  him,  weeping. 

"  We  are  going,  with  Nectaire,  to  seek  the  great 
archangel  to  lead  us  to  victory." 

"  Whom  do  you  call  thus  ?  " 

"The  priests  of  the  demiurge  have  made  him 
known  to  you  in  their  calumnies." 

"  Unhappy  being,"  sighed  Maurice. 

Arcade  embraced  him,  and  Maurice  felt  the 
angel's  tears  as  they  dropped  upon  his  cheek. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

AND    LAST,    WHEREIN    THE    SUBLIME    DREAM    OF    SATAN 
IS    UNFOLDED 

LIMBING  the  seven  steep  terraces 
which  rise  up  from  the  bed  of 
the  Ganges  to  the  temples  muffled 
in  creepers,  the  five  angels  reached, 
by  half-obliterated  paths,  the  wild 
garden  filled  with  perfumed  clusters  of  grapes 
and  chattering  monkeys,  and,  at  the  far  end  thereof, 
they  discovered  him  whom  they  had  come  to 
seek.  The  archangel  lay  with  his  elbow  on  black 
cushions  embroidered  with  golden  flames.  At  his 
feet  crouched  lions  and  gazelles.  Twined  in  the 
trees,  tame  serpents  turned  on  him  their  friendly 
gaze.  At  the  sight  of  his  angelic  visitors  his  face 
grew  melancholy.  Long  since,  in  the  days  when, 
with  his  brow  crowned  with  grapes  and  his  sceptre 
of  vine-leaves  in  his  hand,  he  had  taught  and  com- 
forted mankind,  his  heart  had  many  times  been 
heavy  with  sorrow  ;  but  never  yet,  since  his  glorious 
downfall,  had  his  beautiful  face  expressed  such 

pain  and  anguish. 

345 


346    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

Zita  told  him  of  the  black  standards  assembled  in 
crowds  in  all  the  waste  places  of  the  globe  ;  of  the 
deliverance  premeditated  and  prepared  in  the 
provinces  of  Heaven,  where  the  first  revolt  had 
long  ago  been  fomented. 

"  Prince,"  she  went  on,  "  your  army  awaits 
you.  Come,  lead  it  on  to  victory." 

"  Friends,"  replied  the  great  archangel,  "  I  was 
aware  of  the  object  of  your  visit.  Baskets  of  fruit 
and  honeycombs  await  you  under  the  shade  of 
this  mighty  tree.  The  sun  is  about  to  descend  into 
the  roseate  waters  of  the  Sacred  River.  When  you 
have  eaten,  you  will  slumber  pleasantly  in  this 
garden,  where  the  joys  of  the  intellect  and  of  the 
senses  have  reigned  since  the  day  when  I  drove 
hence  the  spirit  of  the  old  Demiurge.  To-morrow 
I  will  give  you  my  answer." 

Night  hung  its  blue  veils  over  the  garden.  Satan 
fell  asleep.  He  had  a  dream,  and  in  that  dream, 
soaring  over  the  earth,  he  saw  it  covered  with 
angels  in  revolt,  beautiful  as  gods,  whose  eyes 
darted  lightning.  And  from  pole  to  pole  one 
single  cry,  formed  of  a  myriad  cries,  mounted 
towards  him,  filled  with  hope  and  love.  And 
Satan  said : 

"  Let  us  go  forth  !  Let  us  seek  the  ancient 
adversary  in  his  high  abode."  And  he  led  the 
countless  host  of  angels  over  the  celestial  plains. 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     347 

And  Satan  was  cognizant  of  what  took  place  in  the 
heavenly  citadel.  When  news  of  this  second 
revolt  came  thither,  the  Father  said  to  the 
Son : 

"  The  irreconcilable  foe  is  rising  once  again. 
Let  us  take  heed  to  ourselves,  and  in  this,  our  time 
of  danger,  look  to  our  defences,  lest  we  lose  our 
high  abode." 

And  the  Son,  consubstantial  with  the  Father, 
replied : 

"  We  shall  triumph  under  the  sign  that  gave 
Constantine  the  victory." 

Indignation  burst  forth  on  the  Mountain  of 
God.  At  first  the  faithful  Seraphim  condemned 
the  rebels  to  terrible  torture,  but  afterwards 
decided  on  doing  battle  with  them.  The  anger 
burning  in  the  hearts  of  all  inflamed  each  coun- 
tenance. They  did  not  doubt  of  victory,  but 
treachery  was  feared,  and  eternal  darkness  had  been 
at  once  decreed  for  spies  and  alarmists. 

There  was  shouting  and  singing  of  ancient  hymns 
and  praise  of  the  Almighty.  They  drank  of  the 
mystic  wine.  Courage,  over-inflated,  came  near 
to  giving  way,  and  a  secret  anxiety  stole  into  the 
inner  depths  of  their  souls.  The  archangel  Michael 
took  supreme  command.  He  reassured  their  minds 
by  his  serenity.  His  countenance,  wherein  his 
soul  was  visible,  expressed  contempt  for  danger. 


348    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

By  his  orders,  the  chiefs  of  the  thunderbolts,  the 
Kerubs,  grown  dull  with  the  long  interval  of  peace, 
paced  with  heavy  steps  the  ramparts  of  the  Holy 
Mountain,  and,  letting  the  gaze  of  their  bovine 
eyes  wander  over  the  glittering  clouds  of  their 
Lord,  strove  to  place  the  divine  batteries  in 
position.  After  inspecting  the  defences,  they 
swore  to  the  Most  High  that  all  was  in  readiness. 
They  took  counsel  together  as  to  the  plan  they 
should  follow.  Michael  was  for  the  offensive.  He, 
as  a  consummate  soldier,  said  it  was  the  supreme 
law.  Attack,  or  be  attacked, — there  was  no  middle 
course. 

"  Moreover,"  he  added,  "  the  offensive  attitude 
is  particularly  suitable  to  the  ardour  of  the  Thrones 
and  Dominations." 

Beyond  that,  it  was  impossible  to  obtain  a  word 
from  the  valiant  chief,  and  this  silence  seemed  the 
mark  of  a  genius  sure  of  himself. 

As  soon  as  the  approach  of  the  enemy  was 
announced,  Michael  sent  forth  three  armies  to 
meet  them,  commanded  by  the  archangels  Uriel, 
Raphael,  and  Gabriel.  Standards,  displaying  all 
the  colours  of  the  Orient,  were  unfurled  above 
the  ethereal  plains,  and  the  thunders  rolled  over 
the  starry  floors.  For  three  days  and  three  nights 
was  the  lot  of  the  terrible  and  adorable  armies 
unknown  on  the  Mountain  of  God.  Towards  dawn 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     349 

on  the  fourth  day  news  came,  but  it  was  vague 
and  confused.  There  were  rumours  of  indecisive 
victories ;  of  the  triumph  now  of  this  side,  now  of 
that.  There  came  reports  of  glorious  deeds  which 
were  dissipated  in  a  few  hours. 

The  thunderbolts  of  Raphael,  hurled  against  the 
rebels,  had,  it  was  said,  consumed  entire  squadrons. 
The  troops  commanded  by  the  impure  Zita  were 
thought  to  have  been  swallowed  up  in  the  whirl- 
wind of  a  tempest  of  fire.  It  was  believed  that 
the  savage  Istar  had  been  flung  headlong  into 
the  gulf  of  perdition  so  suddenly  that  the  blas- 
phemies begun  in  his  mouth  had  been  forced 
backwards  with  explosive  results.  It  was  popu- 
larly supposed  that  Satan,  laden  with  chains  of 
adamant,  had  been  plunged  once  again  into  the 
abyss.  Meanwhile,  the  commanders  of  the  three 
armies  had  sent  no  messages.  Mutterings  and 
murmurs,  mingling  with  the  rumours  of  glory, 
gave  rise  to  fears  of  an  indecisive  battle,  a  precipitate 
retreat.  Insolent  voices  gave  out  that  a  spirit  of 
the  lowest  category,  a  guardian  angel,  the  insignifi- 
cant Arcade,  had  checked  and  routed  the  dazzling 
host  of  the  three  great  archangels. 

There  were  also  rumours  of  wholesale  defection 
in  the  Seventh  Heaven,  where  rebellion  had  broken 
out  before  the  beginning  of  Time,  and  some  had 
even  seen  black  clouds  of  impious  angels  joining 


350    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

the  armies  of  the  rebels  on  Earth.  But  no  one  lent 
an  ear  to  the  odious  rumours,  and  stress  was  laid 
on  the  news  of  victory  which  ran  from  lip  to  lip, 
each  statement  readily  finding  confirmation.  The 
high  places  resounded  with  hymns  of  joy ;  the 
Seraphim  celebrated  on  harp  and  psaltery  Sabaoth, 
God  of  Thunder.  The  voices  of  the  elect  united 
with  those  of  the  angels  in  glorifying  the  Invisible, 
and  at  the  thought  of  the  bloodshed  that  the 
ministers  of  holy  wrath  had  caused  among  the 
rebels,  sighs  of  relief  and  jubilation  were  wafted 
from  the  Heavenly  Jerusalem  towards  the  Most 
High.  But  the  beatitude  of  the  most  blessed, 
having  swelled  to  the  utmost  limit  before  due 
time,  could  increase  no  more,  and  the  very 
excess  of  their  felicity  completely  dulled  their 
senses. 

The  songs  had  not  yet  ceased  when  the  guards 
watching  on  the  ramparts  signalled  the  approach 
of  the  first  fugitives  of  the  divine  army:  Seraphim 
on  tattered  wing,  flying  in  disorder,  maimed 
Kerubs  going  on  three  feet.  With  impassive 
gaze,  Michael,  prince  of  warriors,  measured  the 
extent  of  the  disaster,  and  his  keen  intelligence 
penetrated  its  causes.  The  armies  of  the  living 
God  had  taken  the  offensive,  but  by  one  of  those 
fatalities  in  war  which  disconcert  the  plans  of 
the  greatest  captains,  the  enemy  had  also  taken 


THE   REVOLT   OF  THE  ANGELS     351 

the  offensive,  and  the  effect  was  evident.  Scarcely 
were  the  gates  of  the  citadel  opened  to  receive 
the  glorious  but  shattered  remnants  of  the  three 
armies,  when  a  rain  of  fire  fell  on  the  Mountain 
of  God.  Satan's  army  was  not  yet  in  sight,  but  the 
walls  of  topaz,  the  cupolas  of  emerald,  the  roofs  of 
diamond,  all  fell  in  with  an  appalling  crash  under 
the  discharge  of  the  electrophores.  The  ancient 
thunderclouds  essayed  to  reply,  but  the  bolts 
fell  short,  and  their  thunders  were  lost  in  the 
deserted  plains  of  the  skies. 

Smitten  by  an  invisible  foe,  the  faithful  angels 
abandoned  the  ramparts.  Michael  went  to  announce 
to  his  God  that  the  Holy  Mountain  would  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  demon  in  twenty-four  hours, 
and  that  nothing  remained  for  the  Master  of  the 
Heavens  but  to  seek  safety  in  flight.  The  Seraphim 
placed  the  jewels  of  the  celestial  crown  in  coffers. 
Michael  offered  his  arm  to  the  Queen  of  Heaven, 
and  the  Holy  Family  escaped  from  the  palace  by 
a  subterranean  passage  of  porphyry,  A  deluge  of 
fire  was  falling  on  the  citadel.  Regaining  his  post 
once  more,  the  glorious  archangel  declared  that 
he  would  never  capitulate,  and  straightway  ad- 
vanced the  standards  of  the  living  God.  That 
same  evening  the  rebel  host  made  its  entry  into 
the  thrice-sacred  city.  On  a  fiery  steed  Satan  led 
his  demons.  Behind  him  marched  Arcade,  Istar, 


352    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

and  Zita.  As  in  the  ancient  revels  of  Dionysus, 
old  Nectaire  bestrode  his  ass.  Thereafter,  floating 
out  far  behind,  followed  the  black  standards. 

The  garrison  laid  down  their  arms  before  Satan. 
Michael  placed  his  flaming  sword  at  the  feet  of 
the  conquering  archangel. 

"  Take  back  your  sword,  Michael,"  said  Satan. 
"  It  is  Lucifer  who  yields  it  to  you.  Bear  it  in 
defence  of  peace  and  law."  Then  letting  his  gaze 
fall  on  the  leaders  of  the  celestial  cohorts,  he  cried 
in  a  ringing  voice : 

"  Archangel  Michael,  and  you,  Powers,  Thrones, 
and  Dominations,  swear  all  of  you  to  be  faithful  to 
your  God." 

"  We  swear  it,"  they  replied  with  one  voice. 

And  Satan  said: 

"  Powers,  Thrones,  and  Dominations,  of  all  past 
wars,  I  wish  but  to  remember  the  invincible  courage 
that  you  displayed  and  the  loyalty  which  you 
rendered  to  authority,  for  these  assure  me  of  the 
steadfastness  of  the  fealty  you  have  just  sworn  to 


me." 


The  following  day,  on  the  ethereal  plain,  Satan 
commanded  the  black  standards  to  be  distributed 
to  the  troops,  and  the  winged  soldiers  covered  them 
with  kisses  and  bedewed  them  with  .tears. 

And  Satan  had  himself  crowned  God.  Thronging 
round  the  glittering  walls  of  Heavenly  Jerusalem, 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    353 

apostles,  pontiffs,  virgins,  martyrs,  confessors,  the 
whole  company  of  the  elect,  who  during  the 
fierce  battle  had  enjoyed  delightful  tranquillity, 
tasted  infinite  joy  in  the  spectacle  of  the  coronation. 

The  elect  saw  with  ravishment  the  Most  High 
precipitated  into  Hell,  and  Satan  seated  on  the 
throne  of  the  Lord.  In  conformity  with  the  will 
of  God  which  had  cut  them  off  from  sorrow  they 
sang  in  the  ancient  fashion  the  praises  of  their  new 
Master. 

And  Satan,  piercing  space  with  his  keen  glance, 
contemplated  the  little  globe  of  earth  and  water 
where  of  old  he  had  planted  the  vine  and  formed 
the  first  tragic  chorus.  And  he  fixed  his  gaze  on 
that  Rome  where  the  fallen  God  had  founded 
his  empire  on  fraud  and  lie.  Nevertheless,  at  that 
moment  a  saint  ruled  over  the  Church.  Satan 
saw  him  praying  and  weeping.  And  he  said  to 
him: 

"  To  thee  I  entrust  my  Spouse.  Watch  over  her 
faithfully.  In  thee  I  confirm  the  right  and  power 
to  decide  matters  of  doctrine,  to  regulate  the  use  of 
the  sacraments,  to  make  laws  and  to  uphold  purity 
of  morals.  And  the  faithful  shall  be  under 
obligation  to  conform  thereto.  My  Church  is 
eternal,  and  the  gates  of  hell  shall  not  prevail 
against  it.  Thou  art  infallible.  Nothing  is  changed." 

And  the  successor  of  the  apostles  felt  flooded 


354    THE  REVOLT  OF  THE   ANGELS 

with  rapture.  He  prostrated  himself,  and  with 
his  forehead  touching  the  floor,  replied : 

"  O  Lord,  my  God,  I  recognise  Thy  voice ! 
Thy  breath  has  been  wafted  like  balm  to  my  heart. 
Blessed  be  Thy  name.  Thy  will  be  done  on  Earth, 
as  it  is  in  Heaven.  Lead  us  not  into  temptation, 
but  deliver  us  from  evil." 

And  Satan  found  pleasure  in  praise  and  in  the 
exercise  of  his  grace  ;  he  loved  to  hear  his  wisdom 
and  his  power  belauded.  He  listened  with  joy 
to  the  canticles  of  the  cherubim  who  celebrated 
his  good  deeds,  and  he  took  no  pleasure  in  listening 
to  Nectaire's  flute,  because  it  celebrated  nature's 
self,  yielded  to  the  insect  and  to  the  blade  of  grass 
their  share  of  power  and  love,  and  counselled 
happiness  and  freedom.  Satan,  whose  flesh  had 
crept,  in  days  gone  by,  at  the  idea  that  suffering 
prevailed  in  the  world,  now  felt  himself  inaccessible 
to  pity.  He  regarded  suffering  and  death  as  the 
happy  results  of  omnipotence  and  sovereign  kind- 
ness. And  the  savour  of  the  blood  of  victims 
rose  upward  towards  him  like  sweet  incense.  He 
fell  to  condemning  intelligence  and  to  hating 
curiosity.  He  himself  refused  to  learn  anything 
more,  for  fear  that  in  acquiring  fresh  knowledge 
he  might  let  it  be  seen  that  he  had  not  known 
everything  at  the  very  outset.  He  took  pleasure  in 
mystery,  and  believing  that  he  would  seem  less 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS    355 

great  by  being  understood,  he  affected  to  be  un- 
intelligible. Dense  fumes  of  Theology  filled  his 
brain.  One  day,  following  the  example  of  his 
predecessor,  he  conceived  the  notion  of  proclaiming 
himself  one  god  in  three  persons.  Seeing  Arcade 
smile  as  this  proclamation  was  made,  he  drove  him 
from  his  presence.  Istar  and  Zita  had  long  since 
returned  to  earth.  Thus  centuries  passed  like 
seconds.  Now,  one  day,  from  the  altitude  of  his 
throne,  he  plunged  his  gaze  into  the  depths  of  the 
pit  and  saw  laldabaoth  in  the  Gehenna  where  he 
himself  had  long  lain  enchained.  Amid  the  ever- 
lasting gloom  laldabaoth  still  retained  his  lofty 
mien.  Blackened,  and  shattered,  terrible  and 
sublime,  he  glanced  upwards  at  the  palace  of  the 
King  of  Heaven  with  a  look  of  proud  disdain  ; 
then  turned  away  his  head.  And  the  new  god,  as 
he  looked  upon  his  foe,  beheld  the  light  of  intelli- 
gence and  love  pass  across  his  sorrow-stricken 
countenance.  And  lo  !  laldabaoth  was  now  con- 
templating the  Earth  and,  seeing  it  sunk  in  wicked- 
ness and  suffering,  he  began  to  foster  thoughts  of 
kindliness  in  his  heart.  On  a  sudden  he  rose  up, 
and  beating  the  ether  with  his  mighty  arms,  as 
though  with  oars,  he  hastened  thither  to  instruct 
and  to  console  mankind.  Already  his  vast  shadow 
shed  upon  the  unhappy  planet  a  shade  soft  as  a 
night  of  love. 


356     THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS 

And  Satan  awoke  bathed  in  an  icy  sweat. 

Nectaire,  Istar,  Arcade,  and  Zita  were  standing 
round  him.  The  finches  were  singing. 

"  Comrades,"  said  the  great  archangel,  "  no — 
we  will  not  conquer  the  heavens.  Enough  to 
have  the  power.  War  engenders  war,  and  victory 
defeat. 

"  God,  conquered,  will  become  Satan ;  Satan, 
conquering,  will  become  God.  May  the  fates 
spare  me  this  terrible  lot ;  I  love  the  Hell  which 
formed  my  genius.  I  love  the  Earth  where  I  have 
done  some  good,  if  it  be  possible  to  do  any  good  in 
this  fearful  world  where  beings  live  but  by  rapine. 
Now,  thanks  to  us,  the  god  of  old  is  dispossessed  of 
his  terrestrial  empire,  and  every  thinking  being  on 
this  globe  disdains  him  or  knows  him  not.  But 
what  matter  that  men  should  be  no  longer  sub- 
missive to  laldabaoth  if  the  spirit  of  laldabaoth  is 
still  in  them ;  if  they,  like  him,  are  jealous,  violent, 
quarrelsome,  and  greedy,  and  the  foes  of  the  arts 
and  of  beauty  ?  What  matter  that  they  have 
rejected  the  ferocious  Demiurge,  if  they  do  not 
hearken  to  the  friendly  demons  who  teach  all 
truths ;  to  Dionysus,  Apollo,  and  the  Muses  ?  As 
to  ourselves,  celestial  spirits,  sublime  demons, 
we  have  destroyed  laldabaoth,  our  Tyrant,  if  in 
ourselves  we  have  destroyed  Ignorance  and  Fear." 

And  Satan,  turning  to  the  gardener,  said : 


THE  REVOLT  OF  THE  ANGELS     357 

"  Nectaire,  you  fought  with  me  before  the  birth 
of  the  world.  We  were  conquered  because  we  failed 
to  understand  that  Victory  is  a  Spirit,  and  that  it  is 
in  ourselves  and  in  ourselves  alone,  that  we  must 
attack  and  destroy  laldabaoth." 


THE   END 


THE    GODS    ARE 
ATHIRST 

By  ANATOLE  FRANCE 

A  Translation   by   ALFRED   ALLINSON 
Demy  Svo.     6s. 

SOME   PRESS   OPINIONS. 

STANDARD. — "'Les  Dieux  ont  Soif  has  appeared  in  English, 
and  a  new  section  of  our  public  has  the  opportunity  of  learning 
what  the  sagest  writer  of  to-day  thinks  of  the  French  Revolution. 
Only  supreme  genius  could  have  given  him  the  power  to  enter  so 
fully  into  the  minds  of  the  diverse  beings  with  whom  he  peoples  his 
narrative.  Here  we  have  him  as  a  lover  of  the  whole  human  race, 
even  though  he  laughs  gently  at  their  strange  ways.  It  b  a 
wonderful  book." 

MANCHESTER  GUARDIAN. — "  Most  spiritedly  translated  in  this 
fine  edition,  it  is  a  sane  book  about  a  mad  year.  His  attitude  is  so 
finely  pondered,  so  sensitively  balanced,  so  penetrating  and  ironic 
that  the  Terror  slips  into  the  natural  order  of  things." 

SUNDAY  TIMES.— "The  tale  reveals  an  extraordinarily  fine 
grasp  of  history,  an  insight  that  is  almost  uncanny  into  the 
thoughts  and  phrases  of  the  Jacobin  doctrinaires  and  a  genuine 
sense  of  drama  and  climax.  This  calm,  scholarly,  worldly-wise, 
ironic  philosopher  setting  himself  to  evoke  by  the  magic  of  his  art 
the  days  in  which  the  fanatics  of  the  French  Revolution  tried  to 
make  a  nation  virtuous  by  mere  enactments — could  we  have  a  more 
piquant  experiment  in  fiction." 

BOOKMAN. — "  In  this  brilliant  and  fascinating  book  Anatole 
France  creates  for  us  the  atmosphere  of  the  Revolution.  Here, 
as  elsewhere,  Anatole  France  displays  a  wealth  of  minute  learning. 
He  is  a  master  of  unobtrusive  detail,  exquisite  preciseness  and 
finish  of  style." 

ACADEMY. — "In  this  case  the  translation  has  been  well  and 
simply  achieved,  with  the  result  that  very  little  of  the  grim  power, 
humour  and  pathos  of  the  genius  of  Anatole  France  has  been 
lost." 

GUARDIAN. — "  In  this  brilliant  vivid  study,  the  French  Revolu- 
tion appears  as  a  more  vital,  because  more  vividly  imagined, 
movement  than  in  most  of  the  histories  of  the  period." 


JOHN  LANE,  THE  BODLEY  HEAD,  VIGO  ST.,  W. 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE 
REINE    PEDAUQUE 

By  ANATOLE  FRANCE 

A  Translation  by  Mrs.  WILFRID  JACKSON. 

With  an  Introduction  by  WILLIAM  J.  LOCKE. 

Demy  8vo.     6s. 

SOME    PRESS    OPINIONS 

ATHENAEUM.—  " A  genius  at  his  zenith.  This,  perhaps  the 
most  finished  and  sustained  of  all  the  novels,  was  written  at  the 
meridian  of  Anatole  France's  powers,  and  irradiates  a  mind  which 
in  its  time  has  created  a  constellation  of  immortals.  The  glory  of 
the  book  is  of  course  Maitre  Jerfime  Coignard,  the  richest  of 
Rabelaisian  figures  since  Panurge  and  Gargantua,  a  most  lovable 
picaro,  the  most  benign  of  philosophers,  the  most  erudite  of 
roisterers,  the  sage  at  once  of  the  cassock  and  the  wine-jar,  whose 
potations  of  wisdom  are  as  deep  as  his  quaffings  of  the  vine.  The 
book's  resource,  its  urbanity  and  its  cadences  are  an  unquenchable 
delight." 

Mr.  ROBERT  BLATCHFORD  IN  THE  CLARION.— "It  is  a 
wonderful  book,  a  great  book,  a  masterpiece.  It  is  a  work  of  the 
finest  humour.  It  is  intensely  human.  Its  creative  power  and 
characterisation  equal  the  best  of  Sterne  or  Dumas.  I  do  not 
know  of  anything  in  literature  of  more  virile  and  masterly  humour 
than  the  account  of  that  tipsy  supper — this  marvellous  power  holds 
one  spellbound.  It  is  magnificently  conceived,  magnificently 
handled,  magnificently  felt." 

EVENING  STANDARD. — "Hardly  a  volume  of  M.  Anatole 
France's  can  be  more  strongly  recommended  to  the  English 
reader." 

FIELD. — "We  would  urge  on  anybody  who  does  not  yet  know 
Jerome  Coignard  to  repair  the  omission  at  once." 

GLASGOW  HERALD. — "  Of  the  many  charming  books  that  M. 
Anatole  France  has  given  to  the  world,  this  is  the  one  that 
posterity  will  most  cherish." 

SCOTSMAN. — "  There  is  no  book  in  the  long  list  of  wonderfully  fine 
stories  that  he  has  to  his  credit  more  neatly  characteristic  of  their 
author  than  this  tale.  Rendered  into  English  of  appropriate  grace 
and  irony  by  Mrs.  Wilfrid  Jackson." 

JOHN  LANE, THE  BODLEY  HEAD,  VIGO  ST.,  W. 


THE   OPINIONS  OF 
JEROME  COIGNARD 

By   ANATOLE    FRANCE 

A  Translation  by  Mrs.  WILFRID  JACKSON 
Demy  8vo.     6s. 

SOME   PRESS   OPINIONS 

SPECTATOR. — "One  of  M.  France's  most  agreeable 
works.  Here  he  is  able  to  give  his  learned,  pleasantly 
ironical  humanism  full  play.  Mrs.  Jackson  succeeds  in 
suggesting  not  a  little  of  the  charm  of  the  original,  and  her 
translation  makes  excellent  reading." 

Mr.  C.  LEWIS  HIND  in  the  DAILY  CHRONICLE.— "There 
are  many  men  in  Anatole  France,  and  he  is  not  afraid  to 
permit  any  of  them  to  say  what  he  thinks  at  the  moment. 
When,  if  ever,  a  collection  of  his  sayings  is  compiled,  what 
a  mixture,  what  diversity,  grave  and  gay,  ironic  and  pathetic, 
brutal  and  tender,  will  be  flashed  upon  us  from  that  lambent 
omnium  gatherum — the  mind  of  Anatole  France." 

SATURDAY  REVIEW.—"  Never  did  a  mind  show  itself  at 
once  so  bold  and  so  pacificatory,  nor  soften  its  disdain  with 
greater  gentleness." 

Mr.  JAMES  DOUGLAS  in  the  STAR.— "As  I  look  along  my 
row  of  these  stately  tomes  I  marvel  at  the  staying  power  of 
this  master  of  philosophic  levity.  How  charming  it  is  to 
find  a  wit  that  grows  keener  and  a  gaiety  that  grows  airier 
with  age." 

COUNTRY  LIFE.— "There  is  no  subtler  mind  in  Europe 
than  that  of  Anatole  France,  and  nowhere  is  its  complexity, 
its  clearness,  irony,  power,  better  exemplified  than  in  this 
piercing  book." 

GLASGOW  HERALD. — "  Nowhere  is  his  irony  more  subtle  ; 
nowhere  does  he  make  a  more  skilful  use  of  his  wide  know- 
ledge. Mrs.  Wilfrid  Jackson  has  performed  her  task  with 
conspicuous  success." 

JOHN  LANE,  THE  BODLEY  HEAD,  VIGO  ST.,W. 


THE   NOVELS  OF  W.   J.   LOCKE 

Crown  %vo.     6s.  each 

'Idols 
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Stella  Maris 
*The  Usurper 
'Where  Love  Is 
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The  Fortunate  Youth 
*At  the  Gate  of  Samaria 
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JOHN  LANE,  THE  BODLEY  HEAD,  VIGO  ST.,W. 


DATE  DUE 


MM  1 

2  1972 

MAI  ii 

1972  X 

MAY  25 

\9CIZ 

T  AY  2 

fi  1972  6 

GAYLORD 

PRINTED  IN  U.S.A. 

A    000958310     5 


